how did we solve "dhamrashla" dam problem

A Milestone in AKRSP’s History: Overcoming a 3-Year Deadlock

This remains one of the most exhilarating experiences of my career. As I mentioned earlier, our team was constructing a dam in Dhamrashla, but its design required a critical bund (embankment) to pass through a narrow strip of land—roughly 100 meters by 3 meters—owned by a notoriously stubborn farmer named Kana Poncha.

Under standard protocol, farmers in such cases were not compensated for land used for bunds. Instead, they signed a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) retaining ownership while permitting construction, with no financial claims. However, Kana Poncha refused outright. Without his consent, the dam’s central gorge—a vital structure to channel water—could not be completed. In a water-scarce region where every drop was "costlier than gold," this impasse threatened to derail a project benefiting the entire village.

The Stalemate
Despite relentless efforts by village elders, leaders, and our team, Kana Poncha remained unmoved. His primary concern? Loss of access to his farm. Complicating matters, his sole neighboring plot belonged to his estranged brother, making alternative routes impossible. For three years, the project lay dormant—a seemingly insurmountable deadlock.

The Turning Point
The breakthrough came when Mr. Anil Shah, then CEO of AKRSP, escalated the issue to Mr. Karamshibhai Makwana, the Minister of Irrigation. Shortly after, I received a call from Mr. Vora (Project Coordinator) instructing me to meet the minister at his home—a modest residence (vilalge Dhajala) 3 km from Dhandhalpur, opposite Dhamrashla village, where Mr. Vora will also join.

What unfolded next was unforgettable. Arriving on my Rajdoot motorcycle, I was stunned to find the minister without the typical trappings of authority—no convoy, no red beacon, no luxury car (a rare sight even in 1993!). When he asked how I’d arrived, I hesitantly mentioned my bike. His response? “I’ll ride with you.” And so, the Minister of Irrigation hopped onto my motorcycle, embodying the humility of a true public servant. Vorabhai and Myself drove to the village in question, where our AKRPI team (Prabhu Koringa, TT Mehta and Bhurabhai, and a few others, but my memory is blurred now) were also waiting for us. 

Divine Intervention & Resolution
At the village, we joined AKRSP colleagues and visited a revered bhuva (a spiritual figure believed to channel divine guidance). Kana Poncha, summoned reluctantly, arrived with palpable tension. Minister Karamshibhai eloquently outlined the dam’s communal benefits, while the bhuva declared divine favor for the project. Yet Kana Poncha insisted on a final condition: the minister personally inspect his farm.

We trekked to the site, where Karamshibhai addressed the farmer’s concerns with empathy, assuring support for future access issues. Moved by this gesture of respect—and perhaps the weight of divine and political endorsement—Kana Poncha finally signed the MoU.

A Legacy of Perseverance
That day marked a historic triumph for AKRSP-Sayla. A three-year stalemate, resolved not by coercion, but through grassroots diplomacy, cultural wisdom, and the humility of a leader who rode a motorcycle to serve his people.

Bravo, Karamshibhai—your legacy lives on.

--------------

Memories of Hamirsar Kutch- 10 years after Earthquake

Its been 10 years since I worked in earthquake response.

Suddenly I have got my old dusty file "Hamirsar" and found interesting cutting of news paper I have saved.

Babloo in the cabinet!!

A Heart-Stopping Moment: The Day Babloo Vanished

I’m recalling an old memory from February or March 1994—dates blur with time, but the story remains vivid. It involves Babloo, the spirited youngest son of Mr. Vorabhai and Roshanbhabhi. At just five years old, he was as mischievous as any five-year-old, always buzzing with energy.

One evening, while working late in my office, Roshanbhabhi burst in around 6:30 PM, her face pale with panic. Vorabhai was away on a field trip, and Babloo had vanished. “Manishbhai, have you seen Babloo?!” she pleaded. He’d been missing for nearly an hour.

She’d searched their housing block, the surrounding quarters, and even Devjibhai and Shivram’s homes—no trace. My stomach dropped. Without hesitation, I suggested checking the highway near Chandubhai’s pan shop and Maraj’s Restaurant, though I doubted a child could wander that far alone.

A brisk 20-30 meter walk from our campus brought me to the highway. I scanned both spots, questioned shopkeepers, and peered into corners. Nothing. Dread tightened its grip.

Rushing back, I updated Roshanbhabhi, whose anxiety had escalated into full-blown terror. Retreating to my office, I suddenly heard faint knocking—not from my room, but farther down the hall. Following the sound, I dashed to Rajeshbhai’s office… and there he was.

Babloo popped out from under Rajeshbhai’s desk cabinet, grinning like he’d pulled off the world’s greatest prank. My heart skipped a beat—relief, exasperation, and laughter collided. What could I say to this little escape artist? Wordlessly, I took his hand and led him back to his mother, whose tears of fear melted into tears of joy.

A mundane evening turned unforgettable, reminding us all of life’s fragile, fleeting moments—and the boundless creativity of a child’s mischief.

---

Key Improvements:

Jani had a dog bite

A Humorous Yet Serious Incident – November 1993

Though my memory of the exact date
and time is hazy, I recall this peculiar incident occurring around November 1993. Let me reintroduce Jani, a fascinating individual and one of my favorite colleagues at AKRSP. A seasoned civil engineer, he had worked for years as a Project Assistant in Dhandhalpur, overseeing the construction of the Sokhda Village irrigation tank.

On that day, I was returning to Dhandhalpur from a meeting in Sayla. As I stepped off the bus, I noticed an unusually large crowd—children, elders, men, and women—gathered nearby. Sensing something amiss, I hurried toward them. To my shock, there was Jani in the middle of the commotion, his pants torn and his left leg bleeding profusely.

I rushed to him, the crowd parting to let me through. Despite the chaos, Jani remained eerily calm, even managing a smile as he puffed on his bidi (a local cigarette). He explained that a stray dog had taken a sudden dislike to him earlier that morning. While passing by, the dog began chasing him. Jani humorously recounted, “I tried reasoning with it, but negotiations failed. The dog decided to bite me instead!”

Panicking, I asked if the dog was rabid and urged him to see a doctor immediately. Jani, unfazed, brushed it off: “Don’t worry—I’ll head to Sayla soon by bus.” Gradually, the crowd dispersed, and thankfully, he found transportation to reach Sayla for treatment.

The incident, though alarming, highlighted Jani’s unflappable demeanor. Even in chaos, he kept his cool—and his bidi lit. A story we still laugh about, decades later.

Learning PRA- what an experience?

AKRSP: A Community-Driven Force & Lessons from a PRA Misadventure

AKRSP (Aga Khan Rural Support Programme) stands out as an exceptional grassroots organization that places communities at the heart of every initiative, starting from the planning stage itself. One of their most impactful tools is PRA (Participatory Rural Appraisal), a social approach to technical development that I’ve long aspired to master.

Mr. Anilbhai Shah, then CEO of AKRSP, revered as a PRA guru, organized a 3-day training program for staff. The agenda included a theoretical session in Sayla (pre-PRA), a field day (applying PRA tools), and a final day for data compilation and presenting findings to villagers.

As the Cluster Incharge of Dhandhalpur, I was tasked with selecting a village for the PRA exercise, in consultation with Rekha (Community Organizer). We chose "Gundiawada", a village 6 km from Dhandhalpur, opposite Dhamrashla. Rekha had recently begun engaging there and informed villagers about the PRA’s purpose, date, and process.

Day 1: Anilbhai’s training was electrifying. His clarity on “dos and don’ts” and his flair as a facilitator left everyone—myself included—motivated and ready to implement PRA tools.

Day 2: We arrived early in Gundiawada. Most villagers attended the initial meeting, where we explained the PRA’s goal: to gather data for a holistic village overview. We divided villagers into groups—I joined the Natural Resource Management team. The exercise began with resource mapping, followed by charting village streets, community locations, and landmarks.

Midway, a woman from the influential Darbar community questioned, “Why are you mapping our houses?” A group leader calmly replied, “This helps us understand where everyone lives, so we can reach you easily for future work.”

We continued with wealth mapping, seasonal calendars, and more. At lunch, we traveled 5-6 km for a meal, promising to return in an hour. Over food, we excitedly discussed the data and planned a transect walk.

The Unexpected Turn:
Upon returning, the village felt eerily deserted. No movement, no villagers. Rekha rushed to investigate and returned pale, urging us to leave immediately. The reason? The same woman who questioned the mapping had rallied the village, warning them we were thieves plotting robberies using the maps. Despite Rekha’s pleas, villagers refused to engage. Defeated, we retreated.

Stinging Reflections:

1. AKRSP had operated in the area for 6 years, even building a dam near Gundiawada.

2. We’d worked in adjacent villages and passed through Gundiawada countless times.

3. How had they never heard of us? Why did our intentions get misread?

Unanswered Questions:

• Was house mapping truly necessary?

• Could we have explained the purpose more sensitively?

• Was this a misunderstanding, political sabotage, or a bid for influence by the woman?

Key Takeaways:

1. Build rapport first: Trust must precede technical exercises.

2. Clarity is critical: Simplify the purpose of tools like mapping to avoid suspicion.

Though disheartening, the experience taught us humility and the importance of cultural nuance. We returned with laughter, lessons, and a resolve to adapt. After all, development work isn’t just about plans—it’s about people, patience, and perseverance.

Sometimes, the greatest lessons come from the messiest missteps. 🌱

first few days in AKRSP

Life at AKRSP-Sayla: Immersion & Growth (1993)

Day Two: Settling In
The second day began with further introductions and familiarizing myself with the campus. V.B. Patel, a seasoned Program Assistant, became my reluctant guide. Having aspired to become a Program Officer (PO) himself, his frustration at reporting to a newcomer like me was palpable. Still, he walked me through files, procedures, and my workspace with grudging professionalism.

Meanwhile, I bonded quickly with Ghanshyam, a tech-savvy colleague assisting the Project Coordinator (PC). His ease with computers drew me in, sparking an instant camaraderie.

The highlight came when I met Ms. Shilpa Vasavda, a fellow PO—sharp, articulate, and brimming with charisma. By evening, she invited me to observe a Village Institution (VI) meeting, my first taste of grassroots governance.

Into the Field
At 7:30 PM, we set off for Chotila (33 km from Sayla), then another 15 km to a remote village. Along the way, we picked up Ramesh, the Chotila-based PO, and reached the meeting site. For five hours, I watched Shilpa lead discussions with villagers—negotiating, educating, and inspiring. Her command of the room left me awestruck. By midnight, the meeting wrapped, and we dropped off colleagues before returning to Sayla at 2:00 AM.

Midnight Fuel
Starving, we stopped at Maraj, a dimly lit, unassuming roadside eatery near our bungalows. Though far from luxurious, the warm meal tasted like heaven after the day’s marathon.

A New Chapter: Village Immersion
The next morning, Rajeshbhai informed me of AKRSP’s induction policy: all new POs must live in a village for three months during probation. I agreed eagerly and relocated to Dhandhalpur, a hamlet 20 km away.

Rustic Living
I shared a rented room with T.T. Mehta in a widow’s home (rent: ₹100/month). Two other staffers—Rekha Aghara (Community Organizer) and Shanta Patel (Program Assistant)—lodged nearby, alongside Jani, a witty PA. The catch? No toilet. My daily routine involved treks to the bushes—a small price for authenticity.

On the Ground
My Rajdoot motorcycle became my lifeline. T.T., Jani, and I rode together to dam sites, while Rekha and Shanta zipped around on their M-80. I oversaw the Dhamrashla Percolation Tank, a major earthen dam project, while Jani managed the Sokhda reservoir. Shanta’s engineering prowess kept Dhamrashla on track, and fortnightly meetings with Rekha deepened my understanding of community dynamics.

Reflections
AKRSP’s blend of professionalism and grassroots participation fascinated me. Mornings began with T.T.’s chai, followed by site visits by 7:30 AM. The dam’s surrounding bushes? My makeshift latrine—proof that adaptability fuels growth.

Those three months were a masterclass in rural development. From gender-sensitive planning to Participatory Rural Appraisal (PRA) techniques, every day brought revelations—stories I’ll share in upcoming posts.

first day in AKRSP

Day One at AKRSP-Sayla: A New Beginning (August 26, 1993)

My father insisted on accompanying me to Sayla, a small town 80 km from Rajkot, to help with my luggage. Public transport options were sparse—only a few buses stopped there—but we managed to catch the right one, arriving at Sayla’s bus stand by 11:00 AM.

First Impressions
The AKRSP campus stood proudly on the highway outskirts of the town. Its well-designed layout featured a main office building, six quaint bungalows, two staff quarters, and a charming guest house, all nestled amid lush greenery. The serenity of the location instantly put me at ease.

Reporting In
I met Mr. Rajesh Kapoor, my contact, who warmly welcomed me and introduced me to T.T. Mehta, a seasoned surveyor. T.T. helped me draft my joining report—a formal yet straightforward process. By noon, my paperwork was submitted, and hunger led us to a nearby dhaba (roadside eatery).

The Dhaba Experience
The tiny, soot-stained restaurant was one of only two options along that 6-8 km stretch. We braved the sweltering heat and spicy fare—a meal costing just ₹9–10—while my father joked about my new "adventurous" life. After lunch, he bid me farewell, leaving me to navigate this fresh chapter alone.

Settling In
Back at the campus, Mr. Kapoor assigned V.B., a Program Assistant, to orient me. V.B. toured me through the Engineering Department, my workspace, and introduced me to colleagues. While his explanations of files and workflows felt haphazard, I gleaned a rough idea of my responsibilities.

Temporary Lodging
My official quarters were still occupied by a staff member named Dashrath, so I moved temporarily into V.B.’s bachelor's quarter—a shared bungalow with Ghanshyam and Chandu (another surveyor). Only V.B. and Chandu were present that day, but their easy camaraderie made me feel welcome.

Reflections
Despite the whirlwind of activity, it was a surprisingly calm first day—a promising start to my new role. As I unpacked in my makeshift room, I felt a mix of anticipation and quiet pride. The journey ahead was uncharted, but the warmth of my colleagues and the tranquility of the campus hinted at brighter days to come.