Mumbai Meri Jaan & Ghanan Ghanan : Musings on Returning Home to Mumbai

Mumbai Meri Jaan & Ghanan Ghanan : Musings on Returning Home to Mumbai

दुविधा के दिन बीत गए, भैया, मल्हार सुनाओ,

काले मेघा, काले मेघा, पानी तो बरसाओ...

There are some cities you live in and then there are cities that become a part of your being...For me, Mumbai has always been that city. 

"Mumbai meri jaan", is not just a phrase or a hashtag but a lived truth written across thirty years and more of my life.

My first major encounter with this magnificent, maddening city was not as a tourist or a seeker. I arrived as a young Sales Tax Officer, Class 1, freshly selected through MPSC, heart full of ambition and nerves. My office was in Mazgaon and thanks to a friend, I found myself a room in a hostel at Vile Parle. Between Mazgaon and Vile Parle lay the great lifeline of Mumbai , the local train and between those two stations lay the beginning of my journey. 

Those who have never traveled Mumbai local in rush hour have missed one of the most extraordinary human experiences on earth. I still remember the local trains displaying time  in minutes. You learn quickly that a Mumbai minute is not like any other minute. It is calibrated with precision, soaked in urgency, and absolutely non-negotiable. Missing a train by a minute meant waiting for the next one and so one quickly learnt to respect time.

I learned to run on platforms in sarees. I learned to calculate the gap between train door and platform edge with my eyes closed. I learned the wordless grammar of the women's compartment,  the distinctive shuffle that makes space for the 'fourth seat' where there is none, the extended hand that pulls a stranger aboard, the silent solidarity of shared exhaustion. The vendors weaving through  selling hairpins, earrings, jasmine strings, vadapav became the background music of my mornings. And then there were the Bhajan mandalis, breaking into devotional songs at the end of a long commute, which was another feature that filled the compartments. 

Mumbai had a unique paradox. People minded their own business, rarely intruding into another's affairs. Yet, the moment someone faced difficulty, strangers transformed into helpers. Beneath the hurried pace lay an enduring humanity.

Soon, I had to leave Mumbai after being selected as Deputy Collector and proceed for training to Sindhudurg. But life had other plans. Marriage brought me back to Mumbai, and I returned with renewed excitement. 

My first real posting in Mumbai's administrative world was in the Collector Office of Mumbai Suburban District at Bandra as Deputy Collector.

Travel became easier with an official vehicle, but Mumbai itself remained unchanged in its spirit It was here that the city revealed its great paradox to me in the starkest possible terms.

I handled Sanjay Gandhi Niradhar Yojana , working with widows, abandoned women, the invisibles of the city , women who survived on the thinnest edges of dignity, struggling for their monthly allowances with paperwork which at times outlasted their patience. And on the other side of the same desk, in the same city, I handled Entertainment Duty , the world of discos, theatres, nightlife, people spending in one evening what those widows received in a month. And sometimes evading even that small tax. Compassion and firmness became twin necessities of administration.

My straightforward approach often came at a price. Transfers followed. At MMRDA, where I served as Land Manager, challenges continued. Yet every posting became a classroom.

From the weight of those contradictions, life took me as only Mumbai can from the serious to the surreal. 

My stint as Joint Managing Director of Filmcity, Goregaon, was nothing short of a gift from the universe to a thoroughly filmy soul like me. I had grown up on Bollywood. And now suddenly I was managing the film studios, coordinating shoots, navigating the extraordinary ecosystem that produces our cinema. To encounter Amitabh Bachchan , the Shahenshah himself in a professional context, to see Hrithik Roshan taking a casual stroll outside my humble office quarters, to be able to see Madhuri Dixit's charm and Aishwarya Rai's beauty so closely ,to meet directors like Yash Chopra, Subhash Ghai, Rakesh Roshan , Vidhu Vinod Chopra, Sanjay Leela Bhansali and breathe the air on their sets being constructed and stories being told ,was like walking into a dream while still awake.

But Filmcity also taught me that behind every glamorous frame is an army of invisible workers, light boys, spot boys, makeup dadas and didis,  junior artists whose lives were not so different from the niradhar women I had worked with. I came face to face with Mumbai's magical duality, again.

From arc lights and film sets to remote tribal villages, the transition was profound. There, amidst hardship and resilience, I encountered another India. The struggles of the tribal communities taught me lessons in humility, endurance and the true meaning of development.

Returning to Mumbai City as it's Resident Deputy Collector was stepping once again into the rhythm of metropolitan life. But by then, Mumbai had become deeply personal.

After nearly nine years of marriage, I conceived. Whether it was the blessings of Lalbaugcha Raja, divine grace, or simply life's mysterious timing, our family was blessed with a son. I took leave for a year to embrace motherhood fully.

Thereafter, many of my professional decisions were influenced by him. I moved to Thane, hoping to remain closer to home. Yet, Thane was no easy assignment. Vast constituencies, intricate administrative responsibilities and then the sudden demise of a Member of Parliament requiring the conduct of a major election in Belapur, one of the largest constituencies in the country then with thirteen lakh voters. It became a masterclass in election management.

Mumbai does not just give you a career. It gives you a life. It brought me to the apex of Maharashtra's administrative machinery when I worked as Deputy Secretary in the Planning Department in Mantralay implenting MGNREGS.   I sat at the intersection of policy and people, watching governance unfold from the inside.

And then after induction into the India Administrative Service as Chief Executive Officer  of Maharashtra State Rural Livelihoods Mission heading the UMED Mission, my world came to a full circle. I now worked with the rural woman of the state whom I had learned to see with such clarity in Jawhaar's villages.  Spreading the network of self-help groups,  undertaking their capacity building, skill training and market linkages became my passion.  Mahalakshmi Saras became our stage, a festival where the handwork of lakhs of women from remote Maharashtra arrived in the heart of Mumbai and found dignity, buyers, and recognition. To see a Nandurbar or Beed tribal woman sell her produce with confidence in the city was more than any promotion or award. So women became my sakhis,  learning from them and empowering them through livelihoods did not remain as an administrative responsibility but  became a personal mission.

Life then took me beyond Mumbai once more as Collector and District Magistrate of Nagpur during the challenging years of COVID-19. Thereafter came Pune, followed by assignments in Mumbai at the Khadi Board and Samagra Shiksha. My career culminated as Resident Commissioner and Secretary to the Government of Maharashtra at Maharashtra Sadan in Delhi.

From Nagpur to Pune to Delhi,  every city I went to after Mumbai, I carried Mumbai inside me.

People often asked: was I able to adjust in Delhi after Mumbai? I always smiled. Mumbai moulds you for everything. It gives you the skin for chaos, the eye for beauty in ugliness, the reflexes for change and the strength to face sorrow. Most importantly, Mumbai prepares you for every city. It teaches adaptability. Delhi, too, charmed me with its broad avenues, rich cultural life, abundant greenery and the grandeur of Lutyens  architecture. I grew to love the city.

Yet, returning to Mumbai carries an emotion that is difficult to articulate.

There is something about Mumbai's busy streets, the endless movement of its people, the resilience hidden behind tired faces, the aroma of chai and wada paav on it's streets, the sea breeze along Marine Drive, the gathering monsoon clouds and the first showers that transform the city.

Mumbai does not merely accommodate you.

It moulds you. It teaches you to keep moving despite adversity, to make space for another even when life itself feels crowded, to pursue dreams without apology and to remain compassionate amidst relentless ambition.

This city and this state have given me far more than I could ever repay, opportunities to serve, friendships to cherish, lessons to treasure and a life rich in experiences.

As I return once again, this time after retirement, my aspirations are different. I no longer carry official files or administrative authority. Instead of that , I now have a purpose in mind. I hope to devote my time to the empowerment of my sakhis and their families, the women of self-help groups whose courage and determination have always inspired me. 

If Mumbai has taught me anything, it is this that transformation begins with ordinary people doing extraordinary things every single day.

As the monsoon clouds gather over Marine Drive, I find myself humming the familiar lines:

दुविधा के दिन बीत गए, भैया, मल्हार सुनाओ,

काले मेघा, काले मेघा, पानी तो बरसाओ।

घनन-घनन, घिर-घिर आए बदरा,

घने, घनघोर, कारे छाए बदरा...

The rhythm of those words mirrors the rhythm of Mumbai itself, unceasing, dramatic, hopeful.

And somewhere within that symphony of rain, railway announcements, temple bells and the crashing waves of the Arabian Sea, I recognise the city that has been my constant companion.

Mumbai.

My city of dreams.

My teacher.

My home.

'Mumbai meri jaan',  you are not just the city of my postings. You are the city of my becoming. Delhi has the historic India Gate but 'Mumbai Meri Jaan' you are the Gateway of India and of course my own little world....

R.Vimala,  IAS Retired, 

Social Change Catalyst, 

Founder AnirvedShakti Foundation &

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay 

Into the Sacred Flow : A Vanaprastha Beginning at Har Ki Pauri...

Into the Sacred Flow : A Vanaprastha Beginning at Har Ki Pauri...

The Ganga ,is a river that holds all of time and does not merely flow, she is a blessing. She carries within her currents, the prayers of ten thousand years, the ash of the departed, the tears of the seeking and the laughter of those who have discovered true living . To stand at her bank is to stand before a mirror that reflects not your face, but your soul. And it is at Har Ki Pauri, the feet of Hari, the threshold of the divine,  that this sacred mirror is held most steadily before every human heart.

On 5thJune 2026, I came to Haridwar not merely as a visitor, but as a pilgrim at a crossroads. I had crossed my sixtieth year officially,  retired from thirty-three years of government service and was standing quite literally at the gateway between two phases of a sincere life. And Haridwar, in its infinite wisdom, had arranged more for me than a holy dip. It had also arranged an encounter with a living flame of the Bhagavad Gita.

"Haridwar , is that gateway to the divine and the Ganga, is the river that flows through time itself." 

Our ancient wisdom speaks of the Chaturashrama,  the four stages that give a human life its shape, its purpose, its grace. Baalaavastha, the season of innocence and wonder, when the world is vast and learning is play. Brahmacharya, the season of discipline and formation, when the self is shaped through study and striving. Grihastha, the season of responsibility and fullness, the heart of life itself  when one tends to family, community, and the world. And finally, Vanaprastha , the forest-turning, the great stepping back.

Vanaprastha does not mean retreat into passivity. It means something far more luminous: the graduation from accumulation to offering. It is the moment when a person, having lived fully in the world, turns from acquiring to giving , from governing to guiding, from building to blessing. The Bhagavad Gita illuminates this truth with extraordinary precision. Lord Krishna, speaking to Arjuna on the battlefield of Kurukshetra, articulates what Vanaprastha embodies in its truest spirit:

"Niyatam kuru karma tvam karma jyayo hyakarmanah" (Gita 3.8)

"Perform your prescribed duty, for action is better than inaction. Even the maintenance of your body would not be possible by inaction."

Vanaprastha is not the abandonment of karma , it is its elevation. The duty changes; the devotion does not.

Long before the weight of official responsibility settled on my shoulders, I was shaped by the warmth of those who loved me first. My parents gave me a childhood that was both beautiful and secure , a foundation so steady that it allowed me to blossom, slowly and surely, into the person I became. My siblings and friends stood by me through every season in laughter and in struggle, offering the kind of loyalty that no rank or title can replicate. My teachers lit the lamp of learning and showed me that academic excellence was not merely about marks but about the discipline of a prepared mind. And my colleagues, across postings and decades, sustained me with their camaraderie, their competence and their quiet solidarity.

In marriage too, I embraced my Grihastha dharma fully  as a wife who tried to be present for the family, as a daughter-in-law who understood that a new home is also an opportunity for love and belonging. And as a mother perhaps the most profound role of all , I poured into my son Vishnu everything I had to give: not wealth or position, but values, attention, and the fierce, patient hope that he would grow into a good human being. And with God's blessings and grace, he has. My small home ,modest and full  gave me a sense of pride and belonging that no official bungalow ever quite matched. It was mine. It was us. It was enough.

I have lived my Grihastha years with all my heart.  As a District Collector of Nagpur, as the CEO of MSRLM where I walked alongside fifty lakh women building their own futures through the UMED Abhiyan, as the CEO of MSKVIB or MD of Jal Jeevan Mission or Samagra Shiksha and as Resident Commissioner at Maharashtra Sadan  I gave to public service everything I had. And it gave me back immeasurably more: a sense of purpose so deep it became my identity, and a love for this country's people so deep that it became a devotion.

But every season must honour its own calling. And now, at sixty, the time of Vanaprastha has arrived  not as an ending, but as the most significant beginning of all.

We arrived at Har Ki Pauri as the morning held its warm glow. The ghats were alive  with chanting, with incense, with the rhythmic bells of a faith that has never shaken. And there, before us, was the Ganga.

I have seen rivers. I have crossed them, administered the floods that swelled them, sat in reviews over their irrigation potential. But this was not a river to be administered. This was a sacred presence. The waters moved with a velocity that was simultaneously urgent and eternal, white-tipped and translucent, carrying the Himalayas themselves in their memory, green and cold and absolutely alive.

Standing on the bridge above Har Ki Pauri, looking down at the flowing waters, I felt something I had not anticipated; I saw my life in that current. The early years of striving. The field postings in remote talukas. The nights spent reading files, the days spent in district rounds. The women of Beed, Osmanabad, Hingoli , Nagpur ,Nandurbar and several other places who showed me what courage truly looks like. The failures that taught more than the successes. The slow, patient work of institution-building. All of it flowing, as the Ganga flows , purposeful, unceasing, and ultimately  moving toward something greater than itself.

"I could see my whole life flowing in its glory from that bridge every season of it, luminous and purposeful."

We descended the stone steps of the ghat which led us into the water's edge  slowly. The Ganga in June, fed by snow melted from the high Himalayas, is ice cold. It takes your breath not harshly, but decisively. It does not ease you in. It claims you. And in that claiming, something extraordinary happens: the cold that should be shocking becomes, within seconds, calming. Soothing. As though the body understands, even before the mind does, that this cold is healing. That this plunge is not a surrender but a purification.

As I took the holy dip ,as the sacred waters rose above my head and closed around me  I felt something ancient and new happen simultaneously. The weight of three decades of official responsibility, still clinging to me like a second skin, lifted. Not discarded, never discarded, for it had made me who I am  but transformed. Released into the current, even as I was held by it.

The Gita speaks of exactly this moment of release  not as escape from the world, but as liberation within it:

"Yogasthah kuru karmani sangam tyaktva dhananjaya" (Gita 2.48)

"Be steadfast in the performance of your duty, O Arjuna, abandoning attachment to success and failure. Such equanimity is called Yoga."

And in that moment of immersion, I felt  with a clarity I have rarely known that I was being reborn. Not into ignorance, but into wisdom. Not into retreat, but into a new and freer form of service. The water that had witnessed the prayers of sages and saints, of kings and common people, of the grieving and the grateful across centuries, was now witnessing mine.

"As I took the holy dip, I could feel myself being reborn , stepping into the service of society with a renewed and liberated heart."

Haridwar, it seems, had more in store for us than the holy waters. After our dip at the ghat, we were blessed with what I can only describe as a divine appointment , an audience with Guruji Swami Gyananandji Maharaj, the revered proponent of the Bhagavad Gita and the visionary founder of Gieo Gita Sansthanam.

To meet a true Gita scholar is to understand, in an instant, the difference between knowing words and inhabiting their meaning. Swamiji did not lecture or declaim. He spoke the way the Ganga flows  steadily, naturally, with quiet power, carrying each listener to a place of greater clarity. In his presence, the Gita ceased to be an ancient text and became a living conversation  between the divine and the human, between eternity and the present moment.

Gieo Gita Sansthanam's , 'gieo' meaning to live, to breathe life into  is not merely an institution. It is a movement with a mission as simple and as vast as the Gita itself: to bring the wisdom of Lord Krishna's teaching to every home, every heart, every corner of this nation and beyond. Swamiji's life is itself a commentary on the Gita's most radical teaching  that one can live fully in the world, engaged in all its responsibilities, and yet remain anchored in the eternal.

"Sarva-dharman parityajya mam ekam sharanam vraja" (Gita 18.66) "Abandon all varieties of religion and just surrender unto Me. I shall deliver you from all sinful reaction. Do not fear." Ma shucha.

The Bhagavad Gita is humanity's most enduring answer to its oldest question: How shall I live? Across eighteen chapters and seven hundred shlokas, it speaks to every dimension of human experience , doubt and courage, grief and joy, action and stillness. It offers not easy comfort, but something far more valuable: the tools to think clearly, act rightly and live freely.

In today's world  where young people are overwhelmed, where women still fight for their rightful place, where communities are divided , the Gita's message is not nostalgic. It is urgently alive. It reminds us that our identity is not our position or wealth, that the soul is indestructible and that every human being carries within them the capacity for something greater than themselves.

My second purpose in this Vanaprastha chapter is therefore clear: to carry the Gita's light  not as religion, but as a philosophy of living  to the women I serve, the youth I mentor, and the communities I touch. Through AnirvedShakti Foundation and in the spirit of Gieo Gita Sansthanam, I am committed to making Nishkama Karma  selfless, ego-free action  not an ancient ideal but a daily practice.

Swamiji's parting words remain with me like a lamp: "The Gita does not ask you to leave the world. It asks you to enter it fully  but as a servant, not as a master."

At the Ganga's edge I made my promise  simply, truthfully. Guided by 'Karmanyevadhikaras te' ,do your duty, release the fruit. I step forward into this new chapter: freed from position, rooted in purpose, offering whatever remains of my life not for reward, but for love.

The river flows on. The Gita sings on. And so do I. 

"Har Har Gange. Jai Shri Krishna."

R.Vimala,  IAS Retd.

Social Change Catalyst, 

Founder, AnirvedShakti Foundation 

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay 

THE MAN WHO HID HIS TEARS TO MAKE OTHERS LAUGHPadma Shri for Shri Raghuveer Khedkar and the need to Save Tamasha, Maharashtra's Dying Folk Art

THE MAN WHO HID HIS TEARS TO MAKE OTHERS LAUGH

Padma Shri for Shri Raghuveer Khedkar and the need to Save Tamasha, Maharashtra's Dying Folk Art

Raghuveer Khedkar, a legendary Tamasha performer, is  a renowned  folk artist of Maharashtra. Famous as the 'Songadya' his wit, humour, and powerful social messaging have touched generations. He was among the nine personalities who received the prestigious Padma Shri award in 2026. This was a recognition of his lifelong contribution to preserving and promoting Maharashtra's traditional folk arts  which has survived through unimaginable hardship and is slowly fading  

Few art forms in India like the Tamasha  are a part of history which carry the fragrance of earth and the pulse of the common people.  The word Tamasha, meaning 'a spectacle' or 'a show' finds it's roots in Persian and goes back to the 17th and 18th centuries when Maratha soldiers, traders, and travellers moved across the subcontinent, creating a need for entertainment. So the Tamashas came up to give them respite. 

Early Tamasha troupes were patronised by local chieftains and wealthy landlords, and became a part of seasonal fairs, wedding celebrations, and festivals. But Tamasha's genius was that it refused to remain the property of the privileged. It migrated to the open fields, the village squares, and the dusty crossroads where ordinary people gathered  making it a voice of the ordinary.

 

A Tamasha performance is far more intricate than ubderstood by popular imagination. It has  distinct phases, each serving a different emotional and ritual purpose.

The performance typically opens with the Gana , devotional songs offered to Lord Ganesh and Goddess Saraswati, invoking blessings for the evening. This is followed by the Gan-Gaulan, lyrical narratives describing the pastoral life of Lord Krishna and the Gopis, suffused with bhakti sentiment. The Vag, or the main narrative drama, forms the centrepiece , a story drawn from mythology, history, or contemporary social life, interspersed with music, dance, and satire. 

The heart of any Tamasha performance, however, is the Lavani , the pulsating, emotionally charged musical form that is Maharashtra's gift to the world of classical-folk crossover. Lavani compositions range from the devotional to the romantic, from the comic to  political. Its 16-beat Dadra and Deepchandi rhythms, combined with the powerful vocal tradition of its female performers and the percussion genius of the dholki, create sounds unlike any other instrument.  

And then there is the Songadya. The comic character who anchors the entire performance.  The Songadya's quick and sharp wit, holds a mirror to society's hypocrisies even while making the audience laugh. It is in this role that Raghuveer Khedkar became legendary.

 in his words,  "Tamasha does not merely entertain. It speaks truth  with a smile to empower. Even as the Songadya makes you  laugh, he may  often be weeping inside and it is that paradox which makes this art immortal. "

Tamasha has produced artists of extraordinary talent whose names are woven into Maharashtra's cultural fabric:

Vithabai Narayangaonkar (1927–2002), often called the 'Kohinoor of Tamasha',  transformed the art form with her powerful voice, magnetic stage presence, and uncompromising artistic vision. Her Lavanis, particularly compositions such as 'Phulancha Gendha Mhanava' are still sung across Maharashtra. She was the first Tamasha artist to receive the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award in 1997, a recognition that forced the cultural establishment to acknowledge what common people had known for decades that Tamasha was high art.

Datta Mahadev Sathe, known as 'Patthe Bapurao' (1868–1941), was one of the pioneers who gave literary and social substance to the Tamasha tradition.  Ram Joshi (1758–1812), a Brahmin poet who defied his community's expectations to compose and perform Tamasha, is one of the tradition's earliest literary giants. His Lavanis ,lyrical, philosophical, and unexpectedly tender  established that Tamasha could accommodate the full range of human emotion and intellect.

Bajirao Mrudgal, a contemporary artist based in Pune, has devoted his life to bringing authentic Tamasha to urban audiences, collaborating with scholars and musicians to document and revive compositions that might otherwise have been lost. His troupe, Sangeet Natak, has been instrumental in creating archives of performance traditions.

And now, Raghuveer Khedkar, whose Songadya has carried  the full complexity of Maharashtra's folk heritage and traditions into the 21st century. 

Born in the Sangamner region of Ahilyanagar district, Raghuveer Khedkar grew up with rural culture, folk music, and traditional performances and was attracted by the Tamasha, Bharud, and Lokgeet. 

He began his journey with traditional Tamasha troupes, performing various roles before becoming widely celebrated as a 'Songadya.' His art carried a rare blend of humour, satire, folk dialect, and social commentary. Through thousands of performances across Maharashtra  from villages to cities , he transformed Tamasha from entertainment to a powerful medium of social awareness. He addressed themes such as de-addiction, women's dignity, the importance of education, social equality, rural distress, and the eradication of superstition in his Vagnatyas and performances. He had the extraordinary ability to make people laugh even as made them think. His performances entertained the masses, as well as educated and awakened them.

Tamasha is an art form that has attracted more questions than acclaim. Its origins can be traced back to the days when war-ridden camps from Maharashtra needed some relief and entertainment. Gradually, performances interwoven with morality, humour, music, and social lessons evolved into what we now know as Tamasha.

But Tamasha was never like permanent theatre. It moved endlessly from village to village. The artists moved with it  carrying costumes, instruments, sets, and dreams across dusty roads and uncertain nights. One cannot imagine the hardships they faced while staying in remote villages without basic comforts like toilets, bathrooms, or proper shelter. They travelled not for luxury or fame, but simply to keep the art alive.

Despite giving joy to countless people, Tamasha artists received very little respect. Society often looked down upon them, partly because of the distorted image of Tamasha portrayed in films and popular culture. The dignity, discipline, and artistic depth of the tradition were overshadowed by stereotypes.

During his interaction at Maharashtra Sadan, where he was felicitated, Shri. Raghuveer  Khedkar spoke with emotion about the lack of support for Tamasha artists. He expressed the wish that a dedicated corporation with adequate funding be established for the welfare and preservation of this folk art, because the rupee six lakh assistance currently provided by the Government of Maharashtra is simply not enough.

What moved many listeners was his quiet recollection of personal sacrifice. There were moments, he said, when he had to suppress his own grief , a death in the family, an accident during a tour, unbearable personal pain because the troupe depended on him and the audience was waiting. The show had to go on.

 

"When I stand on that stage and the audience laughs, they do not know what I carry inside. But that is my duty to give them joy, even when joy has left me." said Raghuveer Khedkar

 

Several Tamasha productions have attained the status of cultural landmarks in Maharashtra's artistic history:

'Sangeet Loknatya Lokayan'  a landmark production by Bajirao Mrudgal's troupe that brought scholarly documentation of Tamasha styles together with authentic village performance traditions, creating a bridge between academic and popular audiences.

The classic Vag 'Savai Madhavrao Yancha Mrutyu'  performed for generations by traditional troupes  retells the tragic death of the young Peshwa with a raw emotional power that demonstrates Tamasha's capacity for serious historical drama alongside its more celebrated comic mode.

Vithabai Narayangaonkar's signature performance of the Lavani 'Phulancha Gendha Mhanava' became so iconic that it was incorporated into school curricula in Maharashtra, introducing generations of students to the art form through one of its most luminous expressions.

In the realm of social Tamasha, Raghuveer Khedkar's own performances on de-addiction  particularly those that toured the Vidarbha cotton belt during the agrarian crisis years  are remembered by villagers as having genuinely changed minds and saved lives. 

When the Songadya addressed farmer suicide and rural despair, people listened in ways they did not listen to government announcements.

 

Today, Tamasha itself is slowly disappearing due to dwindling patronage, lack of institutional support, and changing entertainment preferences. Younger generations hesitate to enter the field because survival itself has become uncertain. The organised drama companies that once filled Maharashtra's towns with colour and song have dwindled. Many traditional performance forms have been abandoned. Some of the most distinctive regional Tamasha styles , the Desh Tamasha of Pune, the Konkan Tamasha with its distinct musical flavour  survive only in the memory of elderly practitioners.

The documentation crisis is equally severe. Very few Tamasha compositions have been recorded, notated, or archived in accessible forms. When a master performer dies, they often take with them dozens of compositions, performance traditions, and improvisational vocabularies that no textbook ever contained. The loss is not merely cultural . it is the loss of a living language.

 

That is why it is deeply heartening that Shri Raghuveer Khedkar has received the Padma Shri. The honour comes not just as a personal achievement, but as a symbolic recognition of every forgotten folk artist who spent a lifetime on dusty stages under temporary tents, performing through pain and poverty.

There is something profoundly moving about a man who hid his tears so that others could laugh.

For decades, artists like Raghuveer Khedkar carried Maharashtra's cultural soul on their shoulders without recognition, security, or dignity. They preserved stories, dialects, music, humour, and collective memory for society often at the cost of their own comfort and happiness.

If we truly celebrate this honour today, then our responsibility cannot end with applause and photographs. We must ask ourselves what we can do to protect this dying art form. Tamasha needs audiences, patronage, documentation, institutional support, cultural respect, and opportunities for younger artists.

A dedicated Tamasha Welfare Corporation  adequately funded and professionally managed  is a need of the hour. The state government's current allocation of Rupees six lakh per artist is a gesture, not a policy. 

Maharashtra, which gave the world Tukaram and Dnyaneshwar, which produced Savitribai Phule and Vitthal Ramji Shinde, which built its identity on a tradition of questioning, singing, and speaking truth to power  this Maharashtra owes its folk artists a living wage and a dignified existence.

Because when a folk art dies, a part of our collective identity dies with it.

Let us come together not only to honour Shri Raghuveer Khedkar, but also to support the fragile yet beautiful tradition he has spent his entire life protecting.

 

R. Vimala, IAS Retired & 

Social Change Catalyst

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay 

 

The Unconquered Flame : Remembering Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj...

The Unconquered Flame : Remembering Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj  

( Chatrapati  SambhajiRaje Maharaj Jayanti Special  |  May 14, 1657 – March 11, 1689 ) 

Day before yesterday, we gathered to celebrate Chatrapati SambhajiRaje Maharaj Jayanti. Our manager read aloud the story of a king who defied an emperor, a warrior who composed Sanskrit poetry, a son who witnessed history at nine years of age and  I found myself very moved. I realised, how little most of us truly knew about Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj and how much the world has underestimated him. For many years, popular narratives reduced him merely to a warrior king who met a tragic end. But with renewed interest in Maratha history, especially after the release of the movie Chhava, people across India have begun rediscovering the extraordinary depth of Chatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj’s personality, his courage, intellect, strategy, scholarship, and unmatched resilience.

History, they say, is written by the victors. But sometimes history is rewritten, slowly, painstakingly by those who refuse to let a great leaders be forgotten. This blog is my small tribute to one such leader.

Chatrapati Sambhajiraje Maharaj was born on May 14, 1657 at Purandar Fort to  Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and Maharani Saibai. He grew up amidst war, diplomacy, and political turbulence. At the tender age of nine, he accompanied Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj to Agra and witnessed firsthand the humiliation and betrayal by Aurangzeb in the Mughal court. Imagine the impact on a young boy, standing in the shadow of one of history's most powerful and ruthless emperors, witnessing his father assert his dignity in that great Mughal darbar. This was followed by the daring escape from Agra where father and son, slipped away from one of the most fortified places near the fort. For a nine-year-old, it must have been a terrifying. And yet, it must have shaped him. That early encounter with danger, with one of the biggest empires and it’s emperor, with courage under impossible odds that perhaps  became the background in which Chatrapati Sambhaji's character was created.

When Chatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj ascended the throne of the Marathas at Raigad on January 16, 1681, becoming the second Chhatrapati after his great father, he inherited not only a kingdom but a war, not against one enemy, but nine. He had to simultaneously, face the Mughals under Aurangzeb, the Siddis, the Portuguese, the British, Adil Shah, Qutub Shah and more.

Most rulers would have made peace with one enemy to fight another. Chatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj refused to bow to any. He drove his campaigns into Burhanpur, swept through the Aurangabad region, and pushed the Portuguese back all the way to Ponda Ghat near Goa. Historians note that had Aurangzeb not intervened, he may well have vanquished the Portuguese entirely. He captured forts across North and South Konkan, launched naval campaigns, and in a remarkable act of strategic vision attempted to blockade the impregnable Janjira fort for eight continuous months by filling the bay with stones, wood, and cotton bales. The sea defeated him that day. But from that maritime resolve emerged the foundations of the legendary Angre dynasty, the pride of the Maratha navy.

For nine years, under crushing adversity, he kept the Swarajya intact. That, in itself, is a feat which deserves far more recognition than it has received. His reign lasted only nine years, but those nine years were among the most difficult faced by the Maratha Empire

Here is the part that surprised me most. At a time when kingdoms were consumed by constant warfare, Chatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj found time to pay attention to literature, music, philosophy, scriptures, and statecraft. In the chaos of war, he nurtured scholarship  a remarkable achievement rarely acknowledged. So despite warfare, political turbulence, and siege Chatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj wrote, not in the vernacular alone, but in Sanskrit. His work Budhbhushan is a Sanskrit treatise that stands as proof of extraordinary scholarship. He authored four books in total and engaged in philosophical discourse on the Vedas with the great Vedic scholar Gagabhatta on equal terms.

He was also deeply rooted in administration. He continued the Ashtapradhan system of his father, issued Kaulnamas during the famine of 1686–87 for the relief and rehabilitation of people, and worked to increase trade by offering concessions to merchants. He was not merely a warrior, he was a statesman.

His liberal religious policy continued the inclusive tradition of Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj  restoring grants to temples and monasteries, ensuring the welfare of saints and shrines, and protecting the diverse spiritual fabric of Maharashtra. 

In February 1689, he was captured at Sangameshwar by Sheikh Mukarrab Khan's forces  not in open battle, but through treachery which has been the cause of defeat, most times in history. What followed were weeks of unimaginable torture at the hands of Aurangzeb, who wanted one thing above all else that this defiant Maratha king renounce his faith and surrender.

On March 11, 1689, at Vadhu Budruk near Tulapur, Pune, Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj was executed brutally, mercilessly by Aurangzeb's command. He was thirty-one years old. But he died without surrender. His death was not a defeat. It was a declaration.

History records that Aurangzeb, upon hearing of his captive's unyielding resolve, is said to have wept not from grief, but from the frustration of a man who had conquered kingdoms but could not conquer one man's spirit.

"A ruler who faces nine enemies, composes Sanskrit verse, administers with compassion, and dies undefeated  this is not a man history should forget. This is a man history should celebrate."

As an administrator, I think often about what leadership truly means. Not the leadership of comfort but of adversity. Of conviction under pressure. Of holding together an institution, a people, an idea  when everything conspires to destroy it.

Chatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj's nine-year reign was exactly that kind of leadership. He did not govern from safety. He led from the front, on the battlefield, in the court, in the scholarly traditions he kept alive even amid constant war. He built a navy. He cared for famine-struck people. He refused to compromise on his faith and his identity, even when death was the price.

There is a Marathi saying: शूर मरे पण गद्दार नाही. The brave may die, but never betray. Chatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj did not merely live by this , he embodied it.

Day before yesterday's Jayanti was more than a date on the calendar. It was a reminder that Maharashtra's history is rich with figures who deserve deeper understanding than a film or a textbook paragraph can offer. It was a reminder that greatness is multidimensional it can simultaneously wield a sword, hold a pen, and shelter the vulnerable.

As our manager spoke, and as I sat listening, I felt that particular kind of inspiration that only comes from encountering a life truly, fully lived. Chatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj was thirty-one when he left this world. In those thirty-one years, he lived more lives than most of us could imagine across several.

So here is my prayer on his Jayanti: may we learn from his intellectual curiosity, his compassion in governance, his refusal to compromise on what is right and his extraordinary, unbreakable courage.

जय भवानी  |  जय शिवाजी  |  जय संभाजी

River Into the Ocean: Reflections Before Retirement...

River Into the Ocean: Reflections Before Retirement...

I shall be turning sixty soon and with that, retiring from Government after more than three decades of service. There is a feeling of joy and satisfaction, each time I say , I am going to retire. For me, saying those words are not only matter of fact but also beautiful. Retirement is such a simple inevitability yet is one word that evokes such different emotions in people.

Last week, someone I know , a well-meaning, well-placed acquaintance  looked at me  with an expression usually reserved for condolence visits. “That’s sad,” she said, when I said to her that I am retiring. I was very amused.

Sad? That a life of over three remarkable decades in public service is completing one of its most meaningful era? That I shall be turning sixty with both feet firmly on the ground, a heart full of stories, and a diary brimming with things yet to be done? This certainly isn’t sadness but the another beautiful blessing in my life. 

Retirement is often spoken of in hushed tones, as though it is an ending to be mourned. And that maybe because society has taught us to measure identity through designations, offices, authority and positions. When those symbols begin to loosen their hold, many mistake it for loss. There is a peculiar sorrow that grips people when they  or someone they know  have to relinquish a position. If you watch it closely, you will find it is rarely about the person. It is about the power they wielded, the chair they occupied, the title that preceded their name in every room they entered. Yes, as a society, we have confused identity with designation. We have mistaken the office for the officer. 

In reality, power, in its truest sense, was never the property of a position. The IAS officer, the CEO, the Commissioner , the Collector these are roles that are assigned for a term. What endures is character. What outlasts all titles is contribution because life is larger than a visiting card. 

Turning sixty in India also has mythological connotations. It is known as Shastipoorthi,  the completion of a full cycle, celebrated in our traditions as a second birth, a moment to begin life anew with accumulated wisdom. The Gita reminds us that the soul does not age; it only witnesses. What we call a career is merely one chapter of a far longer story.

Sant Tukaram, found his truest voice not in his youth but in the fullness of his years. Savitribai Phule, spent her life beginning again, each time with greater courage, each time with a wider compass of care. 

Life in any case is very uncertain. We do not know what each morning will bring, which phone call will alter everything, which casual interaction will become a defining memory. In all this uncertainty, reaching the age of sixty with a clear conscience, good health, and a heart still hungry for purpose is not a small thing. It is a triumph of reaching a milestone with peace, gratitude and joy which must feel like grace and not like sorrow. In the words of Sir Edmund Hillary, “ It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.” 

To look back at one’s years of dedicated service without bitterness, regret, or exhaustion, and with happiness is a blessing. Besides, there is dignity in stepping aside gracefully. There is courage in embracing uncertainty again and there is freedom in discovering who you are beyond your designation.  For me, retirement does not feel like an ending at all. It feels like standing at the edge of a river I have travelled faithfully for years, watching it merge into something larger, deeper, and limitless. And I look forward to that ocean with joy because nothing stops a person from contributing to society after retirement. What stops someone who has spent decades accumulating knowledge, networks, and perspective as resources that most institutions would envy ? Perhaps it is fear of being without a designation, of contributing without a letterhead, of mattering without an office despite having abundance of time now!

But consider the women of Maharashtra’s Self-Help Groups , UMED Abhiyan whom I had the privilege to work with. Many of them had nothing: no title, no office, no official recognition. And yet they built enterprises, rebuilt families, and redefined communities. Their power was never in position. It was in purpose. If they could do that, with so little, surely those of us who have spent decades in service can do something magnificent when finally free.  As Ralph Waldo Emerson has said, “The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honourable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”

And isn’t there a quiet accounting one does as retirement approaches. Not of achievements since  those are already written. But of moments one has deferred, the book that stayed in the mind and never made it to paper, the village at dawn that went unphotographed, the poem that stayed incomplete, the destinations one has never travelled to, the conversation that was to happen “after this project.” Retirement would be the end of deferral. It would be a moment when the self would finally get an appointment with itself.

For years, we work against time, deadlines, files, responsibilities, emergencies, expectations, postponing living itself. We tell ourselves that one day we shall read more, travel more, write more, listen more, sit quietly more, laugh without looking at the clock more.

So retirement is not withdrawal from life, it is an invitation back to it.There are conversations yet to be had, communities yet to be served, journeys yet to be undertaken, books yet to be written, mornings yet to be enjoyed without urgency, and silences yet to be understood.

And my list is ready. There is research to complete , a doctoral thesis on deserted women that must become the voice those women deserve. There is writing to be done, essays, poems, reflections that a busy career pushed to the margins. There is travel, learning, mentoring and perhaps, most joyfully, the simple luxury of being present in a room without an agenda.

I have always been fascinated by the flow of a river. It begins in the mountains, narrow, cold, purposeful and winds its way through plains and cities, carrying silt and stories alike. It does not hesitate at the delta. It does not mourn the mountains. It simply opens into something vaster than itself.

To those who look at me with despair when I speak of retiring, I want to say this gently: it is not your sympathy I need, but your company if you dare. Come, let us explore what happens when experience is finally set free yet continues to work with the same passion. Let us see what we can build for our communities, for our children, for ourselves  when the only brief we follow is the brief of the heart. 

That is how I see the coming phase of my life. Not as an end, but as a new beginning. Less bounded, more boundless, purposeful yet free. The river of life does not end when it leaves familiar banks. It simply widens into the ocean. And oceans are not endings. They are vastness and I am looking forward to merge into that ocean with joy.

R.Vimala, IAS, 

Resident Commissioner & Secretary, 

Government of Maharashtra & 

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay 

The Techwari 2.0 : Reimagining the Secretariat as a Civic Innovation Hub

The Techwari 2.0 : Reimagining the Secretariat as a Civic Innovation Hub

Mantralay, the headquarters of  Government of Maharashtra, in Mumbai , transformed into something far beyond a government office for five days, between 4th and 8th May 2026.  Tech Wari 2.0 became a living experiment in learning, collaboration and human connection where technology met governance, wellness met administration and culture walked hand in hand with innovation. 

In government, we often speak about systems, policies and processes. But Tech Wari 2.0 reminded everyone that governance is ultimately about people, their minds, their values, their health, their creativity and their willingness to adapt to a changing world.

Inspired by the spirit of the Maharashtrian Wari ,where thousands walk together towards  Pandharpur, with devotion, discipline and purpose, Tech Wari carried the same spirit into governance and this “learning week” became a modern-day yatra of ideas. 

What made Tech Wari 2.0 special was its balance. This was not merely a conference on Artificial Intelligence or digital governance. It was designed as a holistic learning movement. Sessions ranged from cybersecurity, quantum computing and India Stack to yoga, stress management, parenting and ethics in governance. 

Tech Wari 2.0 had sessions in one hall where  officers discussed the future of digital public infrastructure and AI-powered governance. In another hall, participants learnt about mental wellness, healthy living and emotional balance. Tech Wari 2.0 also had  demonstrations showcasing innovation, healthy food and nutrition, while cultural performances filled Trimurti Prangan with rhythm and energy. 

 A future-ready administration cannot be built by technology alone. It must also nurture empathy, wellness, ethics and creativity. What made Tech Wari truly remarkable was its scale and inclusiveness. Over 6,000 employees participated physically at Mantralaya while lakhs joined through live streaming across districts. The idea was simple yet powerful , no employee should be left behind in the learning journey. 

One of the most memorable moments was the inaugural rhythmic performance Taalrang by Nilesh Parab and his team. What appeared to be a musical presentation soon evolved into a metaphor for governance itself. 

Every instrument had a role. Every beat depended on coordination. Every pause mattered as much as every sound.

As officers, staff and dignitaries watched the synchronised performance, the message became clear , administration too is like an orchestra. Good governance is impossible without harmony and coordination between departments, officers, institutions and citizens.

The participation of senior leadership, including the Hon’ble Chief Minister and Deputy Chief Minister and the Chief Secretary reinforced the idea that learning and adaptation are responsibilities shared across every level of governance. 

The week brought together technology leaders, administrators, wellness experts, artists and trainers. Sessions on AI, cybersecurity, DPDP Act 2023, quantum computing and digital governance reflected how rapidly the administrative landscape is evolving. Discussions on ethics, leadership, handling criticism and stress management added meaning to it. 

Today administrators are expected not only to manage files and policies, but also to navigate public expectations, digital transformation and emotional pressures. Tech Wari acknowledged this reality with honesty and sensitivity.

The presence of experts from institutions like  Capacity Building Commission, YASHADA, The Yoga Institute, Manashakti, NASSCOM and technology leaders added immense depth to the initiative. 

Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of Tech Wari 2.0 was that it never lost touch with Maharashtra’s cultural soul.

From Naadrang and Yogarang to Kalarang and the final depiction of Wari culture, every evening carried a reminder that progress does not mean abandoning tradition. 

The conversations around Art, AI and Governance beautifully captured this balance. Artists, filmmakers and creative minds explored how technology can coexist with imagination and cultural identity.

In a time when discussions on technology often feel cold and mechanical, Tech Wari gave innovation a human face.

Tech Wari 2.0 was not just a schedule of sessions. It was an atmosphere where officers paused to learn. Where technology was discussed without fear. Where wellness was treated as essential, not optional. Where culture was celebrated within the seat of governance itself.

For a few days, Mantralaya became more than an administrative building. It became a campus of curiosity.

This initiative was a reflection of a much larger transformation journey through the Maha-Sadhana Saptah, where nine lakh employees completed structured learning on the iGOT Karmayogi platform, collectively recording an extraordinary 35 lakh learning hours in just one week. 

 These are not merely statistics but reflect a government and it's leadership is consciously investing in its people.

Tech Wari also highlighted several administrative reforms and human resource initiatives:

• MAHA eHRMS, Maharashtra’s first unified HR platform

• Compassionate appointment reforms

• Bite-sized digital learning initiatives like “Small Bite, Big Leap”

• Sevakarm and governance reform programmes

• Recruitment and service rule reforms for a faster and more transparent administration 

Perhaps the greatest success of Tech Wari 2.0,is that it reminded us that learning never ends, especially in public service. Governance in the future will not belong merely to those who hold authority but to those willing to learn, adapt, collaborate and stay rooted in human values.

"तुझे नाव ओठी, तुझे रूप ध्यानी

जिवाला तुझी आस गा लागली

जरी बाप साऱ्या जगाचा परि तू

आम्हा लेकरांची विठू माऊली...

माऊली माऊली, माऊली माऊली

माऊली माऊली, रूप तुझे..."

At it's heart this is the sentiment  which transforms  leadership from a position of power  into a presence with empathy.  While "the Father" represents the structural authority, rules, and objective justice required to govern, "Mauli" represents the empathy and approachability that give administration its soul. True excellence in service occurs when an administrator transcends their title to become a compassionate guardian, proving that the most effective governance isn't delivered through distant commands, but through a nurturing commitment to the well-being of every citizen.

Tech Wari 2.0 mentored by Additional Chief Secretary, GAD, Ms.V.Radha,IAS echoed this thought that Maharashtra is ready for the future and that administration can learn, evolve and innovate while still remaining connected to culture and compassion. 

R.Vimala, IAS,

Resident Commissioner, & Secretary, Government of Maharashtra & 

Phd Scholar at IIT Bombay 

Standing Tall for Maharashtra : On Maharashtra Day - A Life Given to This Land -Thirty-Three Years and Counting : जय महाराष्ट्र

Standing Tall for Maharashtra : On Maharashtra Day - 
A Life Given to This Land -Thirty-Three Years and Counting : जय महाराष्ट्र 

This morning, as I stood for the flag-hoisting on Maharashtra Day, at both Old and New Maharashtra Sadan, I was engulfed by a sense of gratitude,pride and satisfaction.
The tricolour unfurled with a shower of petals like blessings from God. The Maharashtra Geet began to play. And thirty-three years, each posting, each face, each day of dedicated work  passed through my mind like a wave. By the time the song ended, my heart was full to the brim.
Two days made this moment even more layered. Yesterday, April 30, was  RashtraSant Tukadoji Maharaj Jayanti,  the birth anniversary of Maharashtra's Rashtrasant, the saint-poet who wrote the Gramgeeta and walked with Mahatma Gandhi. And today, May 1, is Maharashtra Day,  the birth  anniversary of a state that has been, for me, far more than a place of posting. It has been home, teacher and grace.
Where It All Began - Bhusawal, Pune, and a Dream -
I was born in Bhusawal, a small town in the Jalgaon district of Maharashtra, where the railway junction and the Tapi river quietly shaped the character of the people who grew up there. I studied there, absorbed Maharashtra in its most unhurried form and then moved to Pune for university.  Pune, that extraordinary city where learning and culture have always breathed the same air.
I taught History at the Pune University. I appeared  twice for the UPSC and did not clear it. But Maharashtra, in its quiet way, did not let failure be the last word in my life. In 1993, I joined the Maharashtra State Civil Services and a life of public service began.
Two failed attempts at the UPSC could have defined that beginning as a consolation. Yet, it was anything but that. As I look back, today I feel it was exactly the right door, a cutting edge which Maharashtra opened for me with great love.

Thirty-Three Years Across This Great State -
What followed was not a career. It was an education in the truest sense. Maharashtra took me into its every corner and asked me to serve.
As a probationer in Sindhudurg, the sea and the coast taught me that governance must be rooted in the realities of the land and the people who live closest to it. As Deputy Collector for Land Acquisition at Panvel, I was part of the making of CIDCO and the Mumbai-Pune Expressway,  infrastructure that would transform how Maharashtra moves. As Entertainment Duty Collector in Mumbai Suburban, I encountered the city in all its energy and complexity. As Lands Manager of MMRDA and Joint Managing Director of Filmcity, I touched two entirely different faces of Mumbai, one building a metropolis, the other dreaming in sound, light and action.
The Sanjay Gandhi Niradhar Yojana brought me close to Maharashtra's most vulnerable, those who had slipped through every safety net. The Subdivision of Jawahar, a tribal region, taught me that development must earn trust before it can deliver results. As Resident Deputy Collector at Mumbai City and Election In-charge for Thane, with the then Belapur, a constituency of more than thirteen lakh voters, one of the largest in the state, I understood the weight of democratic responsibility in the most direct way possible.
Then came Mahatma Gandhi NREGA, work that carries the Mahatma's name not as a formality but as a promise : that every hand that seeks work shall get it and every labouring day shall restore dignity. Working for this programme, I felt most directly what it means when policy transforms into livelihood.

Inducted into the IAS and Into a Larger Purpose -
When I was inducted into the Indian Administrative Service, the canvas widened. As CEO of the Maharashtra State Rural Livelihoods Mission, I worked with lakhs of women across the state who were turning small loans and collective courage into enterprises, into independence, into transformed families. Nothing in a career prepares you for the moment a woman from a remote village tells you that her Self-Help Group changed her life. You carry that with you all your life.
Mission Director for Jal Jeevan Mission brought the mission of water to every home because clean water is not a luxury. It is the first condition of a dignified life. As Collector and District Magistrate at Nagpur, the great city of Vidarbha and the second capital of Maharashtra, I held the full weight of district administration, justice, development, law and the daily needs of millions  in one pair of hands and that too during the second phase of COVID.
As Women and Child Commissioner, I worked for their development, and as CEO of the Maharashtra State Khadi and Village Industries Board made Khadi and Madhuban Honey the talk of every home. Through Samagra Shiksha, I facilitated, NIPUN Bharat for the foundational learning of our youngest children. Each posting was its own world, its own lesson, its own set of challenges, I will not forget.

Delhi : Representing Maharashtra at the Heart of the Nation-
And then I came to Delhi. As Resident Commissioner at Maharashtra Sadan, I had the privilege of representing this great state in the capital of the country. It has been, perhaps, the most wonderful experience of all because here, Maharashtra is not a backdrop but an ambassador coordinating between the centre and the state, between nations and Maharashtra.  Presenting the culture and heritage of Maharashtra was another opportunity.
The Ganesh Utsav filled Maharashtra Sadan with the joy and faith that this festival represents, community, colour, devotion, and belonging.
The food festivals carried the flavours of the six divisions to a city that was hungry for exactly this kind of warmth.
The Saree Festival brought Maharashtra's handloom heritage — Paithani, Himroo, Karvat Kathi, Khunn  to the people of Delhi and they discovered what weavers in Maharashtra had always known.
Every event was an act of love for Maharashtra. I tried to be accessible always, to present this state not as an institution but as a living, breathing, generous culture.
The Saint Who Understood This Land Best -
Yesterday, as we celebrated Rashtrasant Tukadoji Maharaj Jayanti, I thought of how much his Gramgeeta speaks of everything I have tried to do. Born with barely three years of schooling, he wrote 4,675, Ovis, verses about rural development, dignity, service, and the ordinary person's right to a good life. He walked with Mahatma Gandhi. He was imprisoned for India's freedom. He sang for the farmer, the labourer, the woman who had no one singing for her.
Two lines from the Gramgeeta have stayed with me through these thirty-three years:
सेवा करी निरंतर, न मागता फळ ।  हेच जीवनाचे खरे फळ ॥
(Serve ceaselessly, without seeking reward - this itself is life's truest fruit.)
And another, which speaks to what public service must always remember:
ग्रामसेवा हीच ईश्वरसेवा ।  जाण हे मना, सांग या देवा ॥
(Service to the village is service to God - know this, O mind, and proclaim it.)
Standing on Maharashtra Day, having celebrated Rashtra Sant Tukadoji Maharaj yesterday, I felt the continuity of a tradition  of saints and officers, of song and service, of this magnificent state that has always believed that work done honestly, humbly, and for others, is the highest form of worship.

As the Flag Rose  and the Song Swelled-
This morning, as the Maharashtra Geet played and the flag rose, my heart swelled with a joy I cannot fully put into words. Bhusawal, where I grew up. Pune, where I learned. Sindhudurg, where I first served. Mumbai, Nagpur, Jawahar, Thane, Delhi — every place Maharashtra trusted me with is a chapter of a life I am grateful for beyond measure.
This is the soil where Sant Dnyaneshwar sang, where Sant Tukaram composed, where Savitribai walked to school through stones and mud, where Dr.Babasaheb Ambedkar built a constitution for a nation. To have been born here, to have worked here, to have carried Maharashtra's name wherever I went,  I count it among the greatest gifts of my life.
The flag-hoisting today may be one of the last in an official capacity. But the work, the dedication to people, to service, to this land that will never  retire. The years ahead I shall give as I have always tried to give: fully, sincerely, and for the many rather than the few.
मी महाराष्ट्राची आहे  आणि महाराष्ट्र माझा आहे.
(I belong to Maharashtra and Maharashtra belongs to me.)
जय महाराष्ट्र  ·  जय हिंद
Maharashtra Day · 1 May 2026

R.Vimala, IAS,

Resident Commissioner Maharashtra  & 

Secretary,  Government of Maharashtra & 

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay