The Invisible Thread : Raksha Bandhan and Shakti

The Invisible Thread :  Raksha Bandhan and Shakti 

It was around two in the morning when my phone lit up with a WhatsApp message. “मॅडम, आम्ही पोहोचलो घोटीला.”, meaning Madam, we have reached Ghoti. It was from Shobhatai. I read and re- read the message and sighed with relief. 

They had left Mulund at around 10.20 that night after a long day at an exhibition in Worli organised by IPSOWA. Ghoti was a very long drive away. More than the distance, I was worried because their car had a flat tyre which they had replaced with a worn out tyre. But perhaps what stayed with me most that night was not the exhibition, the sales, the products or even the long hours. It was the quiet image of a brother changing the tyre of his car late at night. All evening, I had been watching a brother quietly take care of his sister. With Raksha Bandhan around the corner, it suddenly meant much more.

It has been barely two weeks since I started Shakti on Wheels, an initiative of AnirvedShakti Foundation to take products made by women Self-Help Groups directly to consumers.

For years, while working with Self-Help Groups, I had seen remarkable women create excellent products, food grains, spices, handicrafts, traditional foods, handloom and countless other things. Production had it's issues but reaching the market was the bigger challenge. Exhibitions provided opportunities, but they came and went. What women needed was regular access to customers.

Shakti on Wheels grew from that thought, a mobile marketplace that could take products made by SHG women to housing societies, offices and other spaces where customers are. 

It is a dream I have always deeply believed in so after retirement, I did not think twice before  investing nearly ₹14 lakh in the initiative. The operational expenditure approximately seven to eight thousand a day, is something I need to make the model sustainable and so  AnirvedShakti Foundation retains a 15 per cent service charge on sales of the products. And exactly that  has become one of my first challenges.

Most SHGs are reluctant to pay the service charge. Many are accustomed to government-supported exhibitions where stalls and other facilities are often free or subsidised. The idea of paying for a continuous marketing platform, transport, technology, billing, sales support and continuos access to customers is still new. Only one SHG from Raigad, selling tea, had readily come on board. A few others participated in the inauguration but were hesitant to continue with the service charge.

For someone beginning a new journey, these are the moments when questions inevitably creep in. Will this model work? Will the women find value in it? Can this become sustainable?

Then came Shobhatai's phone call. “Madam, I am with you.”

Sometimes, that is all one needs.

Shobhatai is a member of the Savitribai Phule Utpadak Gat, a women's Self-Help Group under UMED–MSRLM. She lives in Ghoti, Igatpuri. She is also a deserted woman but that is only one circumstance of her life; it is certainly not her identity.

For nearly eight years, I have known her, I have always seen her smiling, cheerful, hardworking and ready to seize every opportunity that comes her way.

She sells hand pounded rice, organically grown pulses and other farm produce. Her speciality, however, is Gir cow ghee, prepared traditionally on a chulha. We have shared many marketplaces over the years.

I remember the MahaKhadi Kalasrushti exhibition that I had organised during my tenure as CEO of the Maharashtra State Khadi and Village Industries Board. Shobhatai made bumper sales there and went on to win the first prize from SIDBI.

Last year, at the Ganesh Utsav at Maharashtra Sadan in Delhi, her Gir cow ghee was a sell-out.The same happened at the India International Trade Fair 2025 in Delhi.  She knew how to make a good product. More importantly, she knew how to stand behind it with confidence.

On 17 August, one of my seniors very kindly offered us space to organise a Shakti on Wheels exhibition at their housing society in Seawoods. It was a wonderful opportunity.

But I suddenly found myself wondering: What products will I take? The platform was ready. The opportunity was there but I needed SHGs willing to walk this new road with me.

That was when Shobhatai stepped in. She came from Ghoti carrying moong dal with chilka, gavthi chana, chawli, matki, math, Indrayani rice and, of course, her Gir cow ghee. We added her products to the tea, coffee, rakhis and a few other items already available with us.

We were supposed to reach Seawoods by 1 p.m. But Shobhatai and her brother reached us only around 11.30 a.m and there was still considerable work to be done.

We have installed professional billing software for Shakti on Wheels. Every new product therefore had to be entered into the system. Stock had to be recorded. QR codes had to be generated, printed and pasted on individual packets. It was hectic.And that was when I began noticing her brother.

He is differently abled and has difficulty with his legs. Yet he had driven all the way from Ghoti so that his sister could participate in the exhibition.He lifted bags. He carried cartons. He helped arrange the products. He assisted her while she marketed them. He moved around doing whatever needed to be done. What struck me was not merely that he helped but how he helped. without drawing attention to himself, without complaining, without appearing impatient or  making his physical difficulty the centre of the story even once.  He was simply there because his sister needed him.

The response at Seawoods was very encouraging. IPSOWA, Mumbai was organising an exhibition on the 19th August so I requested them for a stall at their exhibition in Worli, which  fortunately got approved. 

So Shobhatai and her brother had to go  back to Ghoti to replenish the  products. They returned the very next day, with more products including rice.  It was another long journey, another day of lifting, arranging, selling and packing. And once again, her brother was there, always somewhere nearby, always helping. It was actually three days of continuos hard work. 

It was almost 10 pm by the time we reached Mulund after the Worli exhibition.  Everyone was exhausted.  And then we saw that their car had a flat tyre. My heart sank.They still had to drive all the way to Ghoti. Before I could say anything, her brother got to work. No irritation. No “Not again.” No complaint about the hour, the long day, his legs or the journey still ahead.

He simply began changing the tyre. I stood there watching him. My driver helped him a little and together they got it done. That tyre too was not in good shape but they said they would repair it before setting off towards Ghoti.

I was reluctant to let them travel so late but he reassured me they would be fine. For the next few hours, somewhere at the back of my mind, I remained conscious that they were still on the road. Until, close to two in the morning, my phone lit up with the message, " मॅडम,  आम्ही पोहोचलो घोटीला.”  meaning, We have reached Ghoti. It was such a relief.  And with Raksha Bandhan round the corner, I understood what "raksha' meant 2009 brother's wrist but some of the strongest threads between brothers and sisters are invisible. They are woven through ordinary acts that nobody photographs and few people applaud.

Driving your sister hundreds of kilometres because she has an opportunity to sell her products. Lifting her bags even when walking is not easy for you. Standing quietly behind her stall while she speaks to customers. Travelling back to Ghoti and returning the next day because she needs more stock.

Changing a tyre at ten in the dark night after an exhausting day because there is still a long road home. Never once questioning, Why are you doing all this? Instead, through his actions, saying : Go ahead. I am here. In its simplest form, isn't that raksha? And isn't that also empowerment? 

We celebrate the festival with a beautiful thread tied around a

We speak so often about empowering women. We create schemes, institutions, credit linkages, training programmes and markets and all of them matter enormously.

But there is another form of empowerment that begins much closer to home. It happens when a father says, 

let her study. When a husband says, Follow your dream. When a son says, I will manage. When a brother quietly picks up his sister's bags and walks beside her.

As I thought about Shobhatai and her brother that night, I realised that these first two weeks of Shakti on Wheels have taught me something too. Starting again after a long career in government is not easy. There are investments to make, daily expenses to meet, systems to establish, people to convince and disappointments to absorb. There are moments when one wonders whether a dream is commercially viable or whether people will understand what one is trying to create. 

But then someone like Shobhatai calls and says, I am with you. A senior officer opens the doors of a housing society. IPSOWA gives women entrepreneurs a platform.

A woman travels from Ghoti to Mumbai carrying the produce of rural Maharashtra and a brother quietly carries her bags.

Suddenly, my investment, daily expenses and all the anxieties regarding Shakti On Wheels become part of something larger.

I had started Shakti on Wheels believing that empowerment meant creating markets for women.  These few days reminded me that empowerment is also about faith, someone believing in your dream before it has proved itself.

Shobhatai placed that faith in Shakti on Wheels.

Her brother placed that faith in his sister.

And perhaps I too am learning to place a little more faith in this new journey of mine.

At two in the morning, that simple WhatsApp message was not merely telling me that they had reached Ghoti. 

For me, it carried another message,  "Keep going. Shakti is on its way." And sometimes, quietly walking beside Shakti, is a brother.

Season's Greetings for the ensuing Raksha Bandhan...

R. Vimala, IAS Retd. 

Maharashtra Cadre, 2009 Batch

Former Resident Commissioner & Secretary, Government of Maharashtra

Founder, AnirvedShakti Foundation

PhD Research Scholar, Centre for Policy Studies, 

When the Doors of Home Closed : Stories of Partition, Courage and New Beginnings

When the Doors of Home Closed : Stories of Partition, Courage and New Beginnings

Independence Day, is a day when the flag will be hoisted and patriotic songs will be sung to celebrate the remarkable journey our country has made since 1947.

But on the eve of Independence Day, I found myself looking at another side of freedom as I had the opportunity to visit the Partition Museum and Cultural Hub at the historic Dara Shukoh Library in Delhi for an event commemorating Partition and remembering the refugees who came to India.

As a student of history, I have been familiar with partition. We have read about the political negotiations, the Radcliffe Line, the violence, the trains crossing borders and the creation of two nations. I have also had a long career as an administrator, as a Collector and District Magistrate , as someone who has signed  on relief, rehabilitation and resettlement orders in one form or another for over three decades. I thought I understood displacement as a subject. Yet, today for the first time, in a  physical way, I understood what displacement feels like from the inside as I walked through the partition museum.

Here, history stopped being a chapter in a textbook. It became a ration card, a ledger, an old electricity meter, a newspaper, some  photographs, some post cards, a refugee tent and above all, memories.

Partition displaced more than 20 million people across the subcontinent. Such huge numbers sound impersonal but museums like this one make us look beyond the number.

During the event, my interactions with Shri.Salwan and the Luthra siblings who spoke about their experiences and memories gave me glimpses of what displacement really meant. 

Imagine being told that the town where your family had lived for generations was suddenly in another country and you had to leave your own house behind and literally flee. 

Urmila Luthra said that when their train from Pakistan reached Anritsar, India, the Muslims celebrated because their train had come safely so they too would go back safe. She had seen burning houses from their uncle's home in Jhelum where they had taken refuge. Later, during their visit to Pakistan in 2006 they could go their school in Sargotha whose whitewashed walls had Sanskrit inscribed on them.

The Partition museum is housed in a historical mughal, british and contemporary structure and has nine halls dedicated to different themes with objects, documents and photographs donated by various families who had migrated. The refugees could not bring back their immovable properties but some of them managed to get their valuable jewellery or moveable assets. 

When they lost their homes or property it was not just a physical loss but a loss of comfort of their own home and living under canvas tents in cramped spaces at Purana Qila and areas around Humayun's Tomb which became refugee camps. They had to stand in long queues for food and essential supplies with ration cards.

 I was extremely disturbed looking at a ration card in the museum imagining the plight of people who may have owned homes, farms, shops and businesses who became refugees. Their identity changed almost overnight and they were forced to encounter uncertainty in places like  Kingsway Camp, Faridabad, Ulhasnagar camp in Mumbai and other places which became makeshift shelters. Yet they survived and moved towards rebuilding their lives. 

According to the 1951 Census, refugees constituted 28.4 per cent of Delhi's population.That statistic made me look at Delhi differently. The city we know today was shaped substantially by people who arrived here after losing almost everything.

Land was acquired. New settlements came up. Barren spaces were transformed into thriving neighbourhoods such as Lajpat Nagar and Kingsway Camp. Faridabad was developed as a model township, particularly for more than 30,000 people displaced from the North-West Frontier Province.

People started businesses again. They built schools, created institutions, educated their children. They entered new professions, rebuilt families and communities.

The refugee who had stood in a queue for rations became a shopkeeper, teacher, entrepreneur, professional, artist, administrator or political leader. This transformation is one of independent India's great untold stories.

Some of the smallest exhibits told the biggest stories. I was particularly moved by an exhibit of a ledger book of Sardar Harbhajan Singh Bhatia, retrieved decades later from his former home in Okara, now in Pakistan. A ledger is an ordinary object while a business is functioning. Once that business, town and country have been left behind, it becomes evidence of an entire lost life.

There is another extraordinary story of Priyanka Mehta, who visited her maternal grandmother's home in Lahore. The family which is living there now, had preserved the old electricity meter of the house. They had kept it because they thought that someday someone from the original family might return. They gave it to her  when she went. Imagine someone preserving an old electricity meter which became priceless because of it's memories. 

The story also reflects the fact that borders divided people, politics created nations but ordinary human beings were still capable of preserving someone else's memory for them.

For the Hindu Sindhi community, partition meant something even more profound. They did not simply leave individual houses or towns. Their entire geographical homeland remained in Pakistan.The museum recreates something of the Sindh they left behind  its beautiful woodwork, carved doors, architecture, neighbourhoods and shared cultural spaces. Standing there, one begins to understand that homeland is not merely land, it is language, food, music, architecture, customs, festivals.

You can build another house but how does one recreate a homeland? And yet the Sindhi community carried Sindh  through language, enterprise, culture, food and memory wherever their people settled.

Another gallery speaks about rebuilding relationships. The Mianwali Gazette, for example, helped refugees from Mianwali scattered across India to remain connected. Places of worship became spaces where memories of lost hometowns could survive. Communities recreated social bonds that Partition had torn apart.

Many survivors rarely spoke initially about what they had endured as they simply did not have time to grieve They had to find jobs, restart businesses, build homes and feed children. They had to build a new life and found little time to grieve or speak about their loss. 

Only decades later did many begin speaking about their childhood homes, often to their grandchildren. Perhaps that generation carried its trauma quietly because it wanted its children to inherit opportunity rather than bitterness.

There is something particularly meaningful about the museum being located in the historic Dara Shukoh Library which has witnessed centuries of change. Dara Shukoh is remembered for scholarship, intellectual curiosity and his engagement with different religious and philosophical traditions.

The building passed through several lives before falling into disuse. Today, restored and adapted, it has become a place for remembering one of the most painful episodes in modern Indian history. A building that survived history now preserves history.

The first Partition Museum was established in Amritsar in 2017 by The Arts and Cultural Heritage Trust (TAACHT). The Delhi museum followed at the Dara Shukoh Library in 2023.

What impressed me greatly is that this is truly a people's museum. The objects, photographs, oral histories and personal memories come from families themselves.

There was one moment during my visit that has stayed with me. I stood before a magnificent old carved wooden door in the museum.  As I stood beside it, I suddenly wondered about the millions of people, whose doors  just closed behind them. I imagined about everything they left behind.  A courtyard where children had played. A tree planted by a grandfather. A family shop. The neighbourhood school, the familiar street. The temple or gurudwara.Neighbours who had celebrated festivals and weddings together. The sound of one's mother tongue spoken everywhere around you.

Lady Kishwar Desai deserves enormous appreciation for her vision and persistence in creating these spaces of memory. To recognise that the rapidly disappearing voices of Partition survivors needed to be recorded and then to transform that idea into institutions where future generations can encounter those voices is a remarkable contribution to preserving India's social history.

I also compliment Ms.Deepali Khanna and the team associated with the Delhi museum for creating a space that does not merely display history but allows visitors to feel it.

This is certainly not an easy history to curate. It has pain, violence and displacement. Yet the museum does not leave feelings of hatred in the visitor. Instead, its journey gradually takes us from loss and refuge to rebuilding, relationships, hope and courage. That balance is important, which is why our young people must visit the museum .

I particularly wish young Delhiites would come here. To a generation born decades after the Partition, 1947 can easily become another date or year in a history textbook which it shouldn't. Young people who shop in  Lajpat Nagar,  Khan  Market  or pass through Kingsway Camp or travel around Delhi should know something about the people who built these neighbourhoods

They should see that ration card, the refugee tents, the ledger brought back from Okara, the electricity meter preserved in Lahore because history understood through human lives teaches something textbooks cannot. It teaches us empathy and resilience. It teaches us how quickly the security we take for granted can disappear. It teaches us the dangers of hatred and division.

The people who arrived as refugees did not spend the rest of their lives looking only at the doors that had closed behind them.

They opened new ones.

The museum has a lovely concept called The Post Box of Your Dreams and Hopes. Visitors can leave messages to the past, the present or the future. So my dear young people, come and listen to these stories of history, because soon there will be no living generation that remembers 1947 firsthand.

Tomorrow, when the national flag rises, let's celebrate Independence Day a little differently. Let's remember the refugee standing in a ration queue, the mother protecting her children in a camp,  the businessman beginning again from a roadside stall. The Sindhi family carrying its homeland within its language and culture. And the millions whose names will never appear in a history book.

Independence and Partition came together in August 1947.One brought the joy of freedom. The other brought unimaginable loss. Remembering the suffering does not diminish our celebration of Independence. It deepens our understanding of what freedom means.

Every Delhiite should visit the Partition Museum at least once. And if you have children or grandchildren, take them with you.

Let them see. Let them ask questions. Let them understand that the freedom we celebrate was accompanied by an enormous human price and that the India they inherited was built not only by those who fought for freedom, but also by millions who lost their homes and still found the courage to begin again.

Perhaps that is the lesson I carried home today.

Freedom gave India a new beginning but the refugees of Partition showed us the courage it takes to begin again.

R. Vimala, IAS Retired, 

Former Resident Commissioner & Secretary, Government of Maharashtra

Founder, AnirvedShakti Foundation

PhD Research Scholar, Centre for Policy Studies, IIT Bombay

Shakti on Wheels: A Dream That Finally Began to Move...

Shakti on Wheels: A Dream That Finally Began to Move...

It is not even a week since Shakti on Wheels was inaugurated by Ms.Aditi Tatkare, Hon’ble Minister for Women and Child Development, Government of Maharashtra. The excitement of the launch is just settling, the photographs have been shared, the congratulatory messages have slowed down and the van has begun doing what it was actually created to do, move, reach people and sell products made by women Self Help Groups. In its first three days of actual business, the sales crossed ₹30,000.

For a large businesses, ₹30,000 maybe very little. For me, it brought a quiet smile. Not because of the amount itself, but because it meant that somebody had walked up to our little van, looked at a product made by a woman somewhere in Maharashtra, liked it enough to buy it and take it home. That was the dream which is much older than the van.

Years ago, when I was CEO of  UMED, Maharashtra State Rural Livelihoods Mission ,I had the privilege of working closely with women Self Help Groups. I saw women making wonderful products, spices, grains, pulses, papads, pickles, oils, ghee, jaggery, honey, textiles, handicrafts and much more. We organised exhibitions and melavas to market their products. People came, appreciated the products and bought them. The women went home happy. But an exhibition lasted for about a week or ten days  after which the ladies had to wait for the next exhibition to market their products. Could a livelihood  wait for the next exhibition ?

I often felt that the real challenge before SHG women was not their ability to produce. It was continuous access to markets.Somewhere then, the idea of a mobile marketplace entered my mind. If women cannot keep going to the market, why can't we take their products to where the customers are? I started thinking of a grocery store on wheels. But the idea remained an idea. Like many things in government, there were other priorities and constraints. My assignments changed and life moved on. But the thought travelled with me.

Then came retirement. After more than three decades in government service, everyone expected me to slow down. Some felt why I was getting into all this now? Why wasn’t I  relaxing? And some were worried that I had no experience in retail. Running a shop is not the same as running a government programme, they rightly said. 

I had never run a grocery store. I knew very little about inventory, margins, retail routes, daily sales or managing a commercial vehicle but dreams have a strange habit of ignoring practical advice.

The creation of AnirvedShakti Foundation had already given me a platform through which I could continue working for women. The name itself carries a thought close to my heart. 'Anirved'  means not to lose heart, not to become despondent and to keep going and 'Shakti' of course is strength, energy, the power within. Perhaps, without realising it, I had chosen the two words I would need most for the journey ahead.

I decided to revive my old idea and suddenly I found myself visiting automobile showrooms! After a career spent discussing and implementing  programmes, policies and administration, I was now asking questions about payload, mileage, wheelbase and vehicle dimensions.

I looked at different light commercial vehicles. I climbed into them, looked at their cargo spaces and tried to imagine shelves filled with dal, rice, spices, honey, ghee,  jaggery, textiles and eventually chose the Mahindra Veero.

Booking the vehicle was exciting. For a few days, I was innocent to believe that the job was done. But the real adventure began with fabrication. How many shelves? How wide? How high? Where would extra stock be stored? Where would billing happen? Would bottles remain secure when the vehicle moved? How could we make the interiors functional without making them cramped? There were delays and changes. Meanwhile, expenses kept mounting with the vehicle, fabrication, branding, staff, operations.Every new idea seemed to come with a new bill.

There were moments when I seriously wondered whether my friends had been right.I had just retired. Was this really the time to experiment with something about which I knew so little? The administrator in me was comfortable with plans and systems. This was different. Here I was putting my own resources, time and energy behind an idea without knowing whether customers would actually come. There were anxious days. But slowly, the vehicle began looking like the picture I had carried in my mind. The shelves came up, the branding was completed. And there it stood, SHAKTI ON WHEELS.

I was overwhelmed when  the Hon'ble Minister for Women and Child Development, Maharashtra, Ms. Aditi Tatkare, graciously agreed to  inaugurate  Shakti on Wheels on 4 August 2026,.It was an emotional moment. But what touched me most was that my husband’s elder brother and his wife, well-wishers like Rahul and Jaiprakash and all my friends stood by me.

Some came and purchased products simply to encourage our first steps. Some introduced the concept to others. Some helped us obtain permission to take the van into places where potential customers could access it. Some opened doors to housing societies and institutions.

There were friends who had earlier reprimanded me for taking on this adventure so soon after retirement. They too came among those helping me make it work! Perhaps that is the most beautiful form of friendship. They may question your madness, but when they realise that you are determined to go ahead with it anyway, they walk beside you.

The van started business soon after inauguration and did a business of over  ₹30,000 in three days. .I know enough about numbers to understand that this does not establish a successful business model. Our expenses are still high. There are operational issues to resolve. We need regular routes, better inventory planning, more customers and repeat sales. We have to understand what sells and what doesn't. Quality and supply have to remain consistent. There are many teething troubles. But those first sales mattered. They told me that the idea has a chance. And that is enough for now.

I have also been clear about one thing from the beginning. Shakti on Wheels is not about asking people to buy something out of sympathy for women. That is not empowerment. A customer should buy a SHG product because it is good and come again. 

Our role is to create the bridge to bring authentic products from women producers to consumers, to help improve presentation and market understanding, and hopefully to create a regular channel of sales beyond occasional exhibitions.

The road ahead is long. I would like to see Shakti on Wheels develop regular routes across housing societies, offices and corporate spaces. I would like customers to know when the van is coming and perhaps one day track it, pre-order their favourite products and discover new ones. And yes, somewhere in my dreams, I see a hundred Shakti on Wheels in Maharashtra, in other cities across India.Perhaps thousands of women finding a regular market through them.

But for now, there is one van. It is moving.People are buying. Women are calling. Friends are helping and I am learning. 

This little journey has also taught me something more about Shakti. We often look for strength outside ourselves, in positions, institutions, resources or people but sometimes Shakti is simply the voice inside that says, try once more.

Sometimes it is a friend who helps you get permission to park your van. Sometimes it is someone who buys the first packet from your shelf.

One week after the inauguration, I am still anxious. The expenses have not disappeared. Neither have the challenges. And then came that phone call. Nandini from a Self Help Group in Bhandara called me. She had heard about the van and wanted to know whether her products could also find a place in it? Could we sell them? When could she send them? It was not a dramatic conversation. But there was something in her voice which reminded me of the indefatigable energy in me which she said she had always known. It was as if I had remet and found  myself. I was smiling even as I had tears of joy. As I put down the phone , suddenly, the mounting expenses looked a little less frightening. Someone was waiting for this van.

Not for its colourful branding. Not for its inauguration but only because it was my  project and she trusted that I would make it possible for her and thousands like her who were dreaming of a market. 

Perhaps this is what AnirvedShakti was always meant to be. Anirved, unstoppable,  with a determination not to give up and Shakti in the heart, the courage to begin again.

R. Vimala, IAS Retired, 

Former Resident Commissioner & Secretary, Government of Maharashtra

Founder, AnirvedShakti Foundation

PhD Research Scholar, Centre for Policy Studies, IIT Bombay

The life of Munshi Premchand : A Journey of written word, values and service

The life of Munshi Premchand : A Journey of written word, values and service 

There are some people we meet in life without ever meeting them in person. The legendary Hindi and Urdu writer Munshi Premchand has been one such eternal companion in my life. 

My first acquaintance with him was not in a library or any literary gathering but in a school classroom. Like countless students across India, I read excerpts from his books, 'Godaan' and 'Gaban'. I still vividly remember 'Poos Ki Raat', the unforgettable story of Halku, the poor farmer shivering through a bitter winter night, whose suffering was described with such simplicity that it pierced the heart. At that age, I could barely grasp it's intensity.  Only much later did I understand the depth of the social reality it portrayed.

As the years passed, I returned to Premchand's writings not as a student preparing for examinations, but as a reader trying to understand India.

With every novel and short story, I realised that Premchand was not merely telling stories. He was holding a mirror before society. His characters were ordinary people, farmers, labourers, women, children, clerks, widows and the forgotten poor. Their struggles were not dramatic; they were painfully real. Their dignity was not proclaimed; it quietly shone through hardship.Perhaps Premchand remains timeless because he was not writing stories. He was building a mirror large enough to hold an entire countryside which reflected small acts of grace, grit or even little dishonesties. He wrote about the poorest of the poor not as statistics or as objects of pity, but as people with dignity, cunning, humour and an unbearable amount of endurance. He did not just write about the downtrodden. He wrote as if he had sat with them, eaten with them and understood exactly how the system was built to keep them where they were and he never romanticised poverty. Neither did he exploit it for sympathy. He portrayed human suffering with compassion while constantly reminding society of its moral responsibility. He believed that literature must awaken the conscience.

Looking back today, I realise that although I chose administration as my profession rather than literature, the ideals that guided my journey were remarkably similar.

During more than three decades in public service, whether working with women's self-help groups, improving rural livelihoods, strengthening education, implementing Jal Jeevan Mission, promoting Khadi and village industries, or working for vulnerable women facing desertion, I was constantly reminded that policies are ultimately about people. Every government file represented a human story. Every statistic concealed someone's struggle.

Perhaps this is where Premchand's influence quietly entered my life. As administrators, we often speak of efficiency, governance and implementation. Premchand reminds us that empathy is equally important. A society progresses not merely through economic growth but through justice, compassion and dignity for every individual.

Whatever little I have been able to contribute has been possible because I was blessed with values instilled by my parents, nurtured by my siblings and family, strengthened by my teachers, gurus, friends and constantly reinforced by the Bhagavad Gita and Sampradayam. They taught me that public service is not about power but about responsibility; not about authority but about accountability. If my writings today resonate with readers in little ways,  they are only a humble extension of those values.

This year, on the birth anniversary of the legendary Munshi Premchand, I feel deeply humbled to receive the Premchand Samman. It  is a recognition of distinguished literary contributions while serving the government with dedication and integrity and for carrying forward the enduring legacy of Munshi Premchand who demonstrated that public service and literary excellence can go hand in hand.    

The Premchand Samman is not just an award ceremony but a culmination of the two-day Prem Utsav, where Premchand's stories are presented by IDEA through plays in twenty-one Indian languages, including Bodo and Santhali. 

Before the award presentation, we watched two plays 'Bade Ghar Ki Beti' and 'Phan Ka Ustad'. While the first beautifully highlighted the importance of relationships, behaviour, understanding and humility, 'Phan Ka Ustad' surprised me. Like many readers, I had always associated Premchand with serious social themes. I had not realised how delightful his sense of humour was. The audience laughed throughout the play, yet the message came across effortlessly. It reminded me that humour can sometimes make us think more deeply than a serious lecture. That versatility is what makes Premchand such an enduring writer.

Receiving an award in Premchand's name also brings a quiet sense of responsibility.

Can our writing reduce someone's prejudice? Can it inspire compassion? Can it encourage one young person to choose integrity over convenience? Can it make society pause and reflect? If it can do even one of these, writing has served its purpose.

In an age dominated by social media, short attention spans and instant opinions, reading Premchand has become even more important. His stories teach us patience. They teach us to observe before judging. They help us understand lives very different from our own. They remind us that behind every social issue is a human being with dreams, fears and dignity.

Every young person in India must read Premchand not because he is part of the syllabus, but because he helps us understand the soul of India.

One cannot truly appreciate rural India without Godaan. One cannot understand middle-class aspirations and moral dilemmas without Gaban. One cannot remain untouched after reading stories like Poos Ki Raat, Idgah, Namak Ka Daroga or Kafan. They are not merely literary classics; they are lessons in humanity.

As I continue my own journey as a former civil servant, researcher, social worker and writer I hope to keep learning from the ideals that Premchand lived by, simplicity, truth, compassion and unwavering commitment to the common man.

Awards may recognise our work for a moment but values guide our work for a lifetime. That, perhaps, is the greatest lesson Munshi Premchand leaves behind. And for that, generations of Indians will continue to remain indebted to him.

R. Vimala, IAS Retired, 

Former Resident Commissioner, Maharashtra & Secretary, GoM,

Social Change Catalyst,

Founder Anirvedshakti Foundation, 

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay