A Divine Channel
“You must never forget that we are merely conduits for the Divine Scheme”, he said with an earnestness so deep that it effortlessly resembled fact.
“Thus, ignorance is merely not aligning to that Scheme” I added.
“Or, in not even knowing that we are mere instruments.”
We were discussing the strange circumstances that surrounded his cleaving from the school he had founded, Purkal Youth Development Society (PYDS), but we could have been discussing anything from cuisine to economics to education to raising a child in these days to technology to literature — all of them would have also culminated in this core belief of ours.
Gopal Krishnaswamy, aka G.K.Swamy, aka Swamy-sir (26th Sept 1936–11th June 2021), though, was not a conduit for the Divine Scheme; he was an entire embodiment of it, a whole river of that Will. And to have bathed in that river has been one of my greatest fortunes and blessing. The ignorance in me, wishes that it would never have ended.
This post is largely a recounting of my time with him and his perfectly matched consort, Chinni ma’am. I hold that Swamy-sir was blessed the day he was married to her. I think it is the most unique mark of a blessed soul — being paired with the most perfect partner for this journey on earth and she has been exactly that. The love (and not to mention the respect) between them was the fabric of epic tales. For an idea of what went into setting up the school and the evolution of PYDS, you could search online and read the handful of articles published online.
I’ll summarise here what he was as a person (to my ignorant eyes) before jogging down memory lane. He was someone who could look at a barren piece of land and clearly see what would be there 20–30 years down the line. All of us would only see the barren space. He saw children playing and learning there and high quality sports arenas and much more. He actually saw it. I came to realise that in our conversations later.
When the PYDS mission had taken a grip over his soul, he could only think about ways in which every association, acquaintance, opportunity & rupee could be redirected into the mission. Whenever a person was introduced to him, he would seek to know (a) How could you help the students? (b) Can you teach well? (c’) Would you like to fund the new girls’ toilet being constructed? (d) Do you know someone who can unblock the sanctioning of this new initiative? and so on. Sometimes Chinni ma’am and I would joke that we should place a warning sign outside stating “Please hold on to your wallet and clothes when you meet Mr. Swamy” but that single-minded devotion to the mission was the necessary fire to power the near-impossible design of bringing such high quality education to villages which wouldn’t hesitate to oust the school to meet their petty demands (and this was attempted, too). This is what helped him deal with government officials. I couldn’t stand them & would always ask to be excused whenever they were around or the topic turned to something related to land, permissions, sanctions, pacifying officials, etc.
He had the energy of all the staff put together. And more. There was never a moment when he seemed to need a break. He remembered every task identified in every School Management Committee meeting and who it was assigned to. His energy and memory were unfailing even at 80. I can only imagine what he must have been at 65 or so when PYDS was taking root! He was at the same level of alertness when he was taken into the hospital.
He believed in excellence, esp. academic. He belonged to the generation that believed that if you hadn’t scored well in your exams, you probably weren’t to be taken seriously. He wanted that seriousness in the kids of PYDS. He would personally push them through several hours of rigour. Whenever I would object, he would retort with, “Oh come on! Was that how your childhood was? All resting and doing nothing? You slogged! You went to school and then trained for sports and theatre and also played. Is that how you secured 99 in Science? Is that how you ran for Bombay? These kids do not have your family or background. They need to dedicate themselves twice as much to be on par with those private school kids.” He always scolded me for what he imagined was an excessive focus on academics. He wanted every kid in school to be excellent in sports, games, studies, art, theatre, music, dance and much more. He thought that all I cared for was cognitive excellence. He would repeatedly point out that often, it was this one kid (at each grade level) who kept returning to the dais to collect prizes in different categories. “It is not so difficult for a child to be excellent at everything. You were pushed to be that. It is your responsibility to make that happen for each kid” he would tell me. And I would not sleep that night because I had to find a way to make that happen.
He was hands-on. He would descend to where the labourers were digging up the land and correct their work. He would walk into the kitchen and scold the kitchen staff for using too much oil (he believed in ensuring a healthy meal for the kids). He would pick up a student’s notebook and pour over the entries and comments from the teachers. He would insist on meeting every single teacher who was finalised for a position. He would inspect the cloth of the uniforms stitched. There was nothing that he wasn’t interested in.
While he was not an expert in technology, he was an eager learner. At his request, I signed him up for a Udemy course (when he was 82 or 83). He would constantly be calling me to figure something out. He was fascinated by the intranet and internal documentation that was setup for PYDS. He was the first amongst the Society to actually create a page on it. He believed in the value and power of technology and unlike people of his generation, never shied away from it.
He was a problem-solver. Nothing fazed him. Whenever something seemingly disruptive would emerge, he would tackle it as if it was his morning breakfast. When the villagers threatened to shut down the school (way before my arrival), he tackled it with ease. When the floods of 2013 left many homeless, he set up a process to adopt some into PYDS. When an irate ex-principal filed a case with the police making false charges, he calmly went about tackling it (unlike the others who panicked and screamed and acted up).
He was a voracious reader & politically opinionated. We discussed a lot of books & theories. He loved knowing more and more. Over the past 2 years, it has largely been religious philosophy and literature. He would seat me down and ask “Tell me how Vishishadvaita is different from Dvaita and why do some philosophers hold that eventually, all culminate in Advaita!” I would try my best. Sometimes, he would look up at the ceiling and sink into deep pondering. Sometimes, he would dismiss my attempt as my ignorance. Over time, I learnt not to impress or convince him but merely share what I had. He was also very opinionated on matter political. I had no interest in this and he would reprimand me on that attitude. He deplored my not having a voters card. I once replied with “I will not participate in a system of thieves by thieves and for thieves” and he smiled and took on a paternal tone to explain to me that my idealism would be my bane.
That brings me to the constant message he gave me — do not rely too much on your brilliant mind or expect the world to change for you. Work with what you have and the Divine Hand will clear the path for you.
Even today, the memories of our discussions at his table on the first floor of his house (away from earshot) are fresh. At times I was bringing his ideas to life. At times, I was his typist. At times, he merely wanted me to share some good links to read. Often, esp. from 2018–2019, he had some very critical and confidential matters to discuss. He always assumed that all of my time was his. I never had the heart to tell him otherwise. I wish he would ask for my time now.
In 2016, when I was drawing up my list of places to volunteer at, Purkal Youth Development Society (PYDS) was on it. Nevertheless, I didn’t have a good feeling about a place with such a functional name — why couldn’t they call it something grand and Sankritised? Later, I would meet the man who was dedicated to functional value and in whom I would find an explanation for that name. I remember slotting it as the 4th place to visit (after Auroville, Ladakh and Khamir) but since my Ladakh stint was terminating abruptly and, since I was already there in the north of India, I decided to visit PYDS and quickly dismiss it in case it didn’t measure up as a place worth associating with. I had called up a number given to me by a friend and I spoke to Swamy-sir. I had no idea that he was so elderly as the voice on the phone was clear and firm. He asked me for a summary of what I could do and swiftly asked me to send him my resume, which I did. He invited me to Dehradun. I met him on the 1st of July (in a tiny shed). We spoke a little and then he passed me on to a computer teacher (he assumed that since I was a computer scientist, I would like to meet a CS teacher).
I found my corner and began work. Swiftly (my corporate and industrial work ethics were foreign to most educational institutions) I swept and mopped that alcove (with the help of some curious students who would pass by), got leaking roofs fixed, identified functional computers (all donated by some corporate or individuals), formatted and set them up with Ubuntu, Scratch and illustration software. I remember even buying room fresheners for this space. I also created a functional computer skills curriculum (unlike the ones in vogue which largely taught from a textbook with pictures of a floppy disk drive — the equivalent of learning dance from a user manual!). The students simply loved that their sessions were all conducted in this alcove which was the first computer lab of PYDS.
During these 2 months as a volunteer I had multiple lunch meetings with Swamy-sir at his residence. That we were both from the same state of India also helped us find kinship. On the first lunch meeting, he wanted to know my impression of the school. I shared it candidly. He received it well. He shared with me his plans for this place. I asked him about the succession plan for the society. He and ma’am were taken aback by the candidness of the question. Both of them gradually shared their ideas for PYDS and Purkal Stree Shakti Samiti (PSSS, which Chinni ma’am ran for the women of the villages and similar communities). He shared with me the outline of the right person who should lead the organisation. It was a tall order and remains unfulfilled. While it is safe to assume that there can be no second G. K. Swamy, at least a shadow would have been welcome and was necessary for PYDS — with elements of that vision, depth, love for the underprivileged child, richness and energy. And when we reflected on this in 2020, our conversations would end in a manner with which this post opened. Inspired by a TED Talk by Dan Pallotta, I tried to give him a different perspective (back in 2017 & 2018) of who might be a good person to lead (and s/he needn’t be working for free). He would hear none of it. We debated fiercely. Perhaps it was this and other interactions which seemed to indicate to Swamy-sir that I was not here for myself or my agenda but for a vision and mission that was serious. I needed to know that this was not a flash in the pan idea or a short-lived, misdirected indulgence.
Swamy-sir’s vision of PYDS was deep and grand for the underprivileged children of Uttarakhand. He wanted the best for them. He viscerally believed that PYDS must become the “Harvard for the underprivileged” and he would goad me to think towards that end.
Towards the end of my volunteering gig he asked me about my plans. I told him I wanted to understand the state of under-resourced education in India and would be visiting a few other places before reflecting on my experiences. What he said could have come only from him.
“Enough of roaming around. Stay here. Help me on this mission. I am offering you a job.”
I wasn’t sure but his voice gave me strength. I assumed I would have to work for free. Hence, I began computing the cost and feasibility. He was clear that he would pay me. He asked me for the number that would make things feel acceptably comfortable. I gave him a list of my monthly expenses. He set my salary accordingly and asked me to join asap. I joined on 4th Oct 2017.
What I loved about Swamy-sir was that he never treated me as a volunteer. He knew how to put me to use. He pushed me to get a B. Ed. (I went in for an M.A. (Edu) instead). He was happy that I was growing to be skilled in pedagogical practices. He needed someone who would present that to him transparently and not use it as a weapon to shut down all discussion. Actually he never treated me as anything other than someone who had the brains to analyse and the wherewithal to execute any plan he could convince me about. I often imagined myself to be the Luca Brasi to this Godfather. Even in my volunteering days, he would indicate that I build something which can match the offerings made by commercial educational product companies. He would believe and plan as if he couldn’t fail and it was an honour to ensure (whenever I was involved) that he always succeeded. Whether it was the record-time setting up of the Atal Tinkering Lab (ATL) and all its demos for the inauguration by the then Chief Minister of Uttarakhand or setting up a full-fledged computer science lab to coincide with a visiting high-profile donor or his pitch (the last one he made) to the board (about how he felt that distributed micro-schooling units with remote tutoring is the way forward), it has been an honour to serve him and his mission. His story about the ATL grant application was as follows (and I paraphrase):
“When I heard from a friend that the govt. was providing this fund, I decided to apply for it. We had no one with a remote knowledge or expertise in STEM, but I decided to apply for it. I knew that God will make it happen. Most people around me were not in favour. We lost the grant in the first round. Out of the blue, you called and you had the exact skillset expected. But I decided to wait and assess you. It all clicked and fell into place.”
Not only did he expect me to own the curriculum, but he also expected me to design the interiors, go to the market and shop for hinges for doors, putty for the walls and so much more. He would not accept that checking the flooring for the new lab was a low priority task and should be left to the construction supervisor. I was expected to give him accurate updates about every single facet of setting up the lab.
I would often dread his calls. He would call at any time of the day and week and each call, on an average, would last for 45 min. But I could never bring myself to not pick one up. It was usually a new idea that he wanted to discuss or something he wanted an opinion on.
2018–2019 was a year of some unrest. One part was the visible departure of the principal and the controversy surrounding it. He didn’t like how it ended. I didn’t like how it ended. He would later recall how much he appreciated the contribution he had made but was not willing to forgive the unscrupulous practices or the fiefdom created in school. Nevertheless, I felt, he regretted allowing others to take it over and bringing it to an unsavory end. He probably wanted to end it but in his own style.
“You need to build good ties with everyone”, he’d say, “Because I see you one day taking over as principal.”
“Sir, I would never, for a million dollars, ever accept the role of a principal. If forced to play that role, I would wilt and die. Let us focus on finding a good principal.” He tried convincing me several times and in many ways but I am glad I could bring him to give up. I felt bad in not obeying him but it was not in me to take up such a role. My fear was that I would have to do things that were contrary to my ethics and I wouldn’t have any of that.
The other part was his own removal from everything related to PYDS. July 2019, he resigned from his role as Society Secretary. After that move, he called me over to his house several times to discuss certain thoughts he had but rarely about PYDS. Few months later, Dec 2019, I too expressed my desire to resign. I gave the school 3 months to find a replacement for my role so that I could move into a volunteer’s role working at a less hectic pace (I was practically working 14–16 hr days, every day of the week) and on matters that I truly cared about. Deep in my heart I knew I couldn’t be functional without the hand of Swamy-sir on my head. He trusted me and in that trust I could operate independently. Without him around, I couldn’t be what was my Dharma. It was under his patronage that I could revamp the entire computer science curriculum in the school (which coincidently, was partly adopted by CBSE, much to the astonishment of the teacher), or design an ATL curriculum that included weaving, or build ties with industry and other institutions, or embark on the extremely bold move of revamping the entire curriculum to be one that would focus on developing qualities and values rather than subject knowledge. I would have felt throttled without him. I am glad I could resign and leave the institution while holding on to my self-respect.
I got to know him from a different angle from July 2019-June 2021. We discussed more of philosophy and his various adventures with his sons. For some reason he assumed I was an atheist and at other times he thought I was a devout Brahmin. He shared a lot about Tamil literature and Carnatic music. His morning routine now included a lot of Carnatic music and harikatha. Both of them would share tales of their younger days & odd tidbits like how their son enjoyed the hum of the water motor. We shared many jokes and humourous tales. I began to see more of him which was earlier hidden under the blazing aura of his role in PYDS.
When I announced our decision to move out of Dehradun, I wasn’t sure how he took it. I felt like he had given up on me. I also felt that there was a little sadness in his acceptance of my departure. Maybe I was imagining things. I was just happy that we, as a family, could meet sir and ma’am and receive their blessings and love.
Through his grace and rich association, I got to meet some wonderfully deep and generous people like Ravi Santlani (of ScooNews), Matthew Raggett (ex-HM, Doon School), Mr. Arpit Panjwani (MAMS), Dr. Chauhan (IIRS), Mr. Raj & Atul Khosla (Shoolini University) and many many more. The joy of meeting his sons every time they dropped by his home was a joy and honour. It was also a joy to get connected to his daughter. The acquaintances were extended to other members of his family. Every one of them deeply believed in his vision and his prowess at accomplishing anything he set his mind on.
I took immense pleasure in sharing my life’s events and movements with both of them. I was, of course, a very private person so they invariably got to know after the event but they were always the first. Be it the first to ride in my newly purchased car, or the first to meet my wife, or the first (outside of immediate family) to hold my child — I have always sought their blessings. On every birthday of mine, I would go over to their house to seek their blessings. Both of them blessed so generously that it felt like bathing in an ocean of goodwill.
What remains as a grand wish that Swamy-sir had and remained unfulfilled (maybe there is still an opportunity?) was creating a book about the PYDS journey. I believe multiple attempts were made and I was part of one of them. Didn’t go as planned.
“Let us both sit together and write it out. No point relying on others.”
“Sir, with the academics of the school on my head, I really would have no bandwidth for this.”
He nodded and let it pass. I had heard, perhaps, 25% of the stories that could be. I loved how sir would start out on a story and ma’am would correct his recollections along the way. I had requested him to record all those stories so that they could transcribed some day. I even setup a repository for him to store the audio files and docs that he might write. Didn’t get followed through. Maybe I should have carved out some time.
Somewhere along the journey with him, I started collecting elements of coincidental similarities and commonness between us. It made me feel closer to him. I list them here merely for my heart’s joy.
- Our strong Bombay connection was the first thing
- Our being South Indians who reached Dehradun via Bombay was another common thread.
- Our surnames were the same.
- We both were Librans
- We both were of the same gothra (lineage) with traceable roots to a common ancestor.
- We both (if I remember right) were born under the same star
- Chinni ma’am and my mother shared the same birthday
- We even had the same wall-clock in our homes!
I am surely forgetting a few others but one incident left me with the greatest joy. Project Fuel was at PYDS conducting interviews for each person’s life lessons. I believe Swamy-sir was interviewed at his residence while I was interviewed at school. No one knew what anyone had said or shared or what the questions to each person were.
When the life lessons were published, as above, I was stunned to read that both of us had shared the exact same life lesson. What were the chances that two (seemingly) unrelated individuals would have the exact life lesson? The joy of being connected to him in multiple ways makes me believe that there is more to this association than what has been witnessed.
Few days before his demise, he called to discuss an article I had written. He was energised by it and shared a million ways in which I should improve it. He kept saying, “This is the right thing to do” and I felt so honoured and touched that he thought so. He certainly wanted to be part of it and I kept telling him that once the project starts, I would keep him posted and keep including his ideas on the sly. Nothing in that conversation indicated a failing health.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him sitting in his (preferred?) chair in his house and ma’am in hers. His voice is still clear in my head and ma’am’s gentle scoldings starting with “No, kanna” (the latest ones were about how he didn’t wear the mask properly). He would laugh and surrender to her. I would smile and wish that that moment would never end. There was no need for it to end. This world needs thousands of Swamy-sirs, yes, but I needed him. I needed him for the energy he would infuse, the perspective he brought, the kindness with which he approached many things, the goodness of spirit, for the blessings whose absence will now leave every celebration incomplete. But most of all, I needed him to fill my life with moments where we could all just sit and smile and share stories of kitchens, his illustrious family, his philosophy of work and education and perfume it with ma’am’s essential participation. Now I scrape the floors of my memory to carefully piece together the many such moments he blessed me with. It is with this mosaic that I look up at the skies and fill my mind’s eye with the kaleidoscope that was Swamy-sir.
