
The 2006 competitive examinations for India’s civil services
is notable for the number of young people from non privileged
backgrounds who feature in the merit list. For the first time, none from
India’s elite metros feature in the top ten.
We will bring you some amazing success stories in this
special series. Today, meet a rickshaw vendor’s son from Varanasi who is
one of the IAS toppers this year.
Tears ran down Govind Jaiswal’s
face and refused to stop. Staring him in the face was the only thing he
had ever wanted, and now that he had achieved it, he couldn’t even
reach out for the keys on his cellphone.
He waited till the tears dried up, till the news sunk in and made
that one phone call on which depended the hopes of his entire family.
Govind, 24, the son of an uneducated rickshaw vendor in Varanasi, had
grown up with cruel taunts like ‘However much you study, you will still
be a rickshawpuller.’ He had studied with cotton stuffed in his ears to
drown the noise of printing machines and generators below his window in
a poor neighbourhood where small workshops existed cheek by jowl with
tiny residential quarters.
He had given Math tuitions to supplement the paltry sum his father
could afford to send him each month. His ailing father had sold a small
plot of land to give Govind about Rs 40,000 so that he could move to
Delhi which would provide him a better place to study.
Throughout his life, he had lived with only one dream — to become an
officer of the Indian Administrative Service. For him that was the only
way. And when he broke the news to his family, that he was ranked 48
among 474 successful candidates in his first attempt at the exam — it
was the turn of his three sisters and father to weep with unbridled joy.
‘Besides the Civil Services, I had no option’
Icould not afford to have any
other career goal. My life would have been absolutely futile had I not
made it into the civil services,” says Govind, just back from his
medicals in New Delhi, mandatory for the IAS.
“You must understand that my circumstances were such that besides the
Civil Services, I had no option. I didn’t have much of a chance with
lower government jobs because they are mostly fixed, neither could I
start a business because I had no money. The only thing I could do was
work hard at my studies.”
It was almost impossible for him to study in the one room he shared
with his family. To add to his woes was the power cut that extended
between 10 and 14 hours every day. The moment the lights went out, he
had to shut the window to block out the deafening noise of generators in
the many workshops around his home.
So in search for a quiet place to study, he briefly shared a friend’s
room at the Banaras Hindu University. Since that did not help him much,
he did what many civil services aspirants in northern India do — he
moved to New Delhi.
His father sold his last plot of land for his son’s dream
F or his son to make a fresh
start in a city Govind had never visited before, Narayan Jaiswal,
Govind’s father, sold the only remaining plot of land he had saved after
getting his three daughters married.
Working for ten years at the government ration shop, Narayan earned a
living by weighing goods at the store. One day when the shop shut down,
he bought one rickshaw and hired it out. He added three more and at one
time was prosperous enough to own about 36 rickshaws.
That was a period of financial security and Narayan was prudent
enough to buy three small plots of land. With three daughters to marry
off, he knew he would need it in times to come. But bad times soon
befell the family. His wife passed away when Govind was in school. For
10 years there was acute hardship. The rickshaws dwindled.
On his meager earnings, the uneducated rickshaw vendor with a hearing
disability continued the education of his children. The girls were
married after their graduation — Narayan sold two pieces of land for the
weddings, the last plot was sold to achieve his Govinda’s dream.
Narayan gave his son Rs 40,000 to prepare for his Civil Services exam
in New Delhi and pursue his childhood dream of becoming an IAS officer.
For the next three years, he sent his son between Rs 2,500 and Rs 3,000
every month, sometimes foregoing the expense of treating the septic
wound in his foot that continues to nag him till today.
Courier boys found his house with difficulty; now the fruitwallah will tell you where the ‘IAS’ house is’
Outside his narrow lane,
opposite the Varanasi City railway station, where Narayan Jaiswal parks
his rickshaws and spends most of his waking hours, he still walks
barefooted with a bandage, one end hanging loose and scraping the dirty
road.
“Beyond this year, my father could not have afforded to send Govind
any more money. It was getting very tough for him. Govind was earning Rs
1,500 from tuitions, I don’t know what he would have done if he didn’t
make it to the IAS this year. My father could not sleep for 10 days
before the results came,” says Govind’s eldest sister Nirmala, whose son
is almost the same age as her brother.
Now that he will earn Rs 8,000 as his starting salary during his
two-year training period in Mussoorie, Govind says his first priority is
getting good treatment for his father’s wound.
“I want to look after him, I don’t know if he will leave Varanasi but
I will definitely move him out of this rented room that we have lived
for 35 years.”
If his son’s new job dramatically changes things for the better,
Narayan Jaiswal is quite unaffected by it. He is surprised by the scores
of journalists and well wishers flocking to his house.
Until now, courier delivery boys found his house with great difficulty but now even the fruit cart-wallah, one-and-a-half kilometres away, will tell you where the ‘IAS’ house is.
“I like my work. I haven’t decided about the future — what could be a
better place than Kashi? As long as my son looks after me, what else
can one want?” he says, visibly uncomfortable with the media spotlight.
‘My character will be put to the test, then I want to see what a real man I am’
Having lived his life in
Varanasi, the holy city on the banks of the Ganga, Govind has given his
home state Uttar Pradesh as his preferred region of posting. If he
doesn’t get UP, he is open to being sent to any state in India.
“Varanasi needs a tight administration. As for me, I want to be a
good officer. We are the agents of change and I as an administrator
would like to inform common people about their right to know, their
right to information. The benefit should finally go to the people.”
His hero is President A P J Abdul Kalam. Govind is reading the Hindi translation of the President’s best-selling book On Wings of Fire and takes out a nicely thumbed copy from a plastic bag.
“After Gandhiji, President Kalam has given us a dream and the power
to dream. His dream is of a developed India and he is a symbol of many
common people’s dreams.”
In a time when the Indian bureaucracy has its drawbacks like a lack
of accountability, corruption and perpetuating a system that was handed
down by the British to rule a subordinate population Govind’s thoughts
are fired by the idealism of youth. He insists his idealism will not be
watered down in future years, that he will not allow himself to be
influenced.
“I am a product of my circumstances that has been wrought with
hardships. When I go out as an officer my character will be put to the
test, and then I want to see what a real man I am.”
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