Ansar Ahmed Sheikh, the son of an autorickshaw driver, became India’s youngest IAS officer at the age of 21 in 2016, inspiring millions with his journey from humble beginnings to the pinnacle of civil service.
IAS Ansar Ahmed Sheikh
New Delhi:
Ansar Ahmed Sheikh has achieved the distinction of becoming India’s youngest IAS officer after successfully clearing the UPSC examination on his first attempt. His accomplishment underscores the power of perseverance and dedication in overcoming challenging circumstances.
Facing financial hardships due to unfavorable conditions, Ansar’s family struggled to make ends meet. However, undeterred by the obstacles, he pursued his dreams relentlessly. In 2016, Ansar made history by excelling in one of the most challenging exams, surpassing all previous records.
Hailing from a modest background, Ansar is the son of Yonus Sheikh Ahmad, an auto-rickshaw driver, and his mother, who works in the fields. The family resides in a rented home in Shelgaon village, situated in the Jalna district of Maharashtra’s Marathwada region.
Growing up in extreme poverty, Ansar worked diligently from a young age to provide for his family’s basic needs. Despite the lack of emphasis on education within his family, they faced pressure to discontinue his studies due to difficult circumstances. However, Ansar, always a standout student, persisted in his pursuit of knowledge.
Against all odds, Ansar achieved an impressive All India Rank of 361 in the UPSC examination at the age of 21. Before setting the record as India’s youngest IAS officer, he had previously scored 91% in his X board examinations and attained a 73% in his graduation, where he pursued a Political Science degree at Fergusson College, Pune.
While preparing for the UPSC examinations, Ansar’s financially strapped family supported him, demonstrating their commitment to his education. His remarkable results serve as a testament to how his unwavering dedication and hard work distinguished him from the crowd.
source: http://www.zeenews.india.com / ZEE News / Home> News / by Zee Media Bureau / edited by Mahi Mishra / January 12th, 2024
Even though there were pockets of tribal-populated areas in Bulsar district, such as Dharampur and Bansda, the district was, by and large, known to be fertile and well served by the monsoon. The southern part of the district contained large tracts of grasslands, mostly owned by the Desais and Parsis. Most of the districts of peninsular Saurashtra, however, had no irrigation facilities. This was before the Narmada Canal took the river water there and solved the problem of both irrigation and drinking, with the rare exception of Junagadh.
I had served in one of the most arid regions of Saurashtra, Surendranagar – rich in history and political leaders and poor in soil fertility and irrigation facilities. Saurashtra was also poorly fed by the monsoons, and since no perennial rivers pass through the region, no large reservoirs, too, could be built to retain substantial quantities of water.
The year 1972 proved a very difficult year for both Saurashtra and North Gujarat. That year the assessment revealed that almost 12,000 out of the 18,000 villages of Gujarat had a harvest of less than 25 per cent. The government, therefore, declared famine conditions in those 12,000 villages, that is two-thirds of the state, and applied the Bombay Famine Relief Code to provide regulated relief.
Since the state faced a major calamity with two-thirds of its population of humans and cattle facing the threat of death by hunger and thirst, the Cabinet met almost every day since the moment the assessment figures came to be known. They had known what had happened in the tragic historical famines in Bengal, Kashmir and Madras, where thousands had perished – parents sold their children, sons abandoned their parents and there were rumours of cannibalism in some pockets. A major famine in Gujarat was quite a scary prospect for the government.
One fine morning, in September of 1972, I was basking in the cool breeze of the sea blowing from the Indian Ocean in the west. After a great deal of persuasion and bribery, my daughter, Gazala, who was all of four years, had agreed to go to school. Then the telephone rang. It was KN Zutshi, the revenue secretary, on the line.
“There was a Cabinet meeting this morning to review the scarcity situation. It was decided to post you as director of famine relief to take charge of the relief operations. You better pack up and move over to Gandhinagar. The chief minister wants you here yesterday. You have 48 hours to reach here. Handover charge to your resident deputy collector,” he ordered me.
Though I had been in Bulsar for more than three years, the normal tenure of a collector, still the sudden transfer came as a surprise. Bulsar was such a pleasant district to govern – open-minded and reasonable people, able and committed staff, and a flourishing club that I had established. When I announced my transfer to my officers as soon as I reached the collectorate, there was all-round consternation. By noon, the whole district had come to know of the transfer. As I was having lunch in my chamber, the peon announced that a delegation of MLAs from the district wanted to meet me.
“Sir, there are so many development works going on. All surplus land has not yet been taken over from the Desais. You cannot leave the task half-completed. You should not move,” they said.
“I have completed my tenure here. If the government wants me at Gandhinagar, I have to move,” I said. Left to myself, I would have liked to serve another four or five years in Bulsar. I learnt later that all the MLAs of the district, including those from the opposition, had driven to Surat. They had persuaded Zinabhai Darji, the president of the state Congress, to accompany them to Gandhinagar to persuade the CM, Ghanshyambhai Oza, to cancel the transfer. One of the MLAs later told me that the CM had asked them only one question.
“Is Mr Moosa Raza unhappy with this transfer? Does he want to stay back in Bulsar?”
“No, sir, but we want him there in the interest of the district.”
“Don’t you think that the larger interest of the state should override the interests of a single district?” the CM had asked reasonably.
They had no answer. The next day, after handing over charge to the resident deputy collector (RDC), I drove down to Gandhinagar to call on the CM. I had known him during my tenure in Surendranagar, his hometown. Having been a member of the Parliament for two terms, Mr Oza was a suave and polished politician, exuding politeness and bonhomie at every movement. He received me graciously, and as I was taking my seat, he pointed to a large pile of telegrams on his table.
“Do you know what they are?” he asked me with a smile. “No, sir,” I replied truthfully.
“Over 500 telegrams from Bulsar district requesting me to cancel your transfer.”
“I had nothing to do with them, sir,” I said. But I would have been less than human not to feel pleased at this show of appreciation from the people I had served.
“But I had to disappoint your fans in Bulsar. The state is facing a severe challenge, and your work in Surendranagar, Surat, Bulsar, and Dangs has convinced the Cabinet that you are the best officer to shoulder the task.”
“We have done a preliminary survey and made an initial assessment of the various requirements. A budget of Rs 120 crore has been sanctioned. Your mandate is to ensure that not a single human life is lost for want of food and water, all cattle are provided fodder, and all villages supplied with water. The Land Revenue Code mandates that the able-bodied villagers are not given doles. That encourages a dependent mindset. You have to organise relief works through which all those who can work are provided employment. The wages should be paid every week. The revenue department will brief you on the organisational arrangements. So, get cracking.”
The next port of call was Mr Zutshi, the revenue secretary. Mr Zutshi, as his name indicated, hailed from a family of Kashmiri Pandits. An old-style civilian, with impeccable credentials, he believed in management by the book. He would not deviate an iota from the rules, and everything had to be put down in black and white before he would commit himself to a course of action. Though he used the telephone as a necessary evil, he would not trust any conversation carried out on that unreliable machine.
One had to go over to his room to discuss even petty issues.
“Bhai, Deolekar has prepared an organisational chart for you. We think you will need around ninety staff to manage this huge operation. I think you should speak with him, and he will help you to get the necessary staff in place. We will ask the various departments to depute the needed staff. The PWD will provide the furniture and other necessary equipment,” he said.
The PWD would naturally dispose of its rejected furniture – broken, roughly repaired and not required by others. Also, the staff would be from those divisions where they had proved their dispensability. I would, therefore, start with a severe handicap, which would never be overcome during my entire tenure as a director of famine relief. Nor would I be able to successfully meet the challenge of the worst famine Gujarat had seen in its decades-old history with rejected equipment and discarded staff.
Excerpted with permission from Of Giants and Windmills, Moosa Raza, Niyogi Books.
source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> Book Excerpt / by Moosa Rooza / December 05th, 2022
Mateen Jamadar with his parents, mother Razia Begum and father Nabisaab. Photograph: Kind courtesy Mohammad Mohsin
A teenager who doesn’t need to be told to study, who makes no demands on his parents even while preparing for his board exams — and then goes on to score a perfect 100%. Jyoti Punwani salutes Mateen Jamadar’s scholastic achievement against all odds.
He’s 18, but looks 15.
A teenager who doesn’t need to be told to study, who makes no demands on his parents even while preparing for his board exams – and then goes on to score a perfect 100%.
Meet Mateen Jamadar, the pride of Mannur village in Gulbarga district, for having scored 600/600 in Karnataka’s PUC (pre university course) exam, the results of which were announced on Friday, July 23, 2021.
His father Nabisaab works as a mason on construction sites in the village, earning about Rs 500 a day; his mother Razia Begum cleans her neighbour’s field all day to come home with barely Rs 150.
Both parents have studied upto Class 10 and wanted their three sons to study further, but their eldest had to give up after Class 10 thanks to an eye affliction. He is now handicapped and at home, unable to work.
Their second son has done well, he’s a constable in Bengaluru; but it is their youngest who has brought them fame they had never imagined.
Razia Begum says she knew Mateen would do well. “Since he was a child he would come home and sit with his books,” she recalls. “No playing, no roaming around.”
That made Mateen his village school topper; he scored 619 out of 625 in his Class 10 Boards.
Mateen says he expected to do well in the PUC. This year, the evaluation for the final PUC exam had to be done based on previous performance since the exam was not held due to COVID-19 restrictions.
“I had scored 98.7% in my 10th and around the same in my First Year PUC,” he says over the phone. “I thought I would get 99%.”
Always fond of studies, Mateen decided to seek out a good college after completing his 10th from the government school in his village. The PUC college in his village wasn’t up to the mark.
His quest took the village boy more than 600 km away from his home to the MMU PU College in Ramanagara. The magnet that drew him there was the hostel run by the Rahman Education Foundation in Ramanagara city.
The Foundation provides free stay for five years to meritorious boys to prepare them for the UPSC exams. The stay includes not just food, but also access to teachers, computers, sports facilities, and lectures by visiting IAS and Karnataka Administrative Service officers.
It was one such talk by IAS officer Mohammad Mohsin that made Mateen decide his final goal — the IAS. “The IAS gives you respect,” said the youngster.
Mateen, third from right with his hostel mates.
Mohsin, a Karnataka batch IAS officer hailing from Bihar, tells Rediff.com that the Rahman Foundation had invited him to spend half a day to motivate their hostelites. “I told the boys that no one from my family had ever joined the IAS; we are a business family. But I wanted to do something for the country.”
It was Mohsin who brought Mateen Jamadar’s achievement to the world by tweeting (external link) about him. “I wanted to show students that poverty need not mean the end of the road,” said Mohsin.
It may well have become so for Mateen.
Forced by the lockdown last year to return home as his hostel shut down, Mateen had to depend on online teaching. When he left for college, his parents had given him a simple phone, just good enough to stay in touch. Students were anyway not allowed a phone by the hostel authorities. The latter would keep the students’ phones with them, and give them back for just one hour every Sunday to call up home.
That phone was no use for online classes. To buy himself an Android, Mateen had to use his annual scholarship of Rs 6,000 given by the Karnataka government, but even that wouldn’t have been enough had his father not dipped into the funds he had saved slowly over the years.
Of course, that meant working harder to make up, but said Nabisaab, “We have to do that much for our children; and this boy has turned out to be so clever, we have to support him!”
Mateen Jamadar
Nabisaab and Razia Begum used to work in Mumbai and Pune earlier, on construction sites. But it was the desire to educate their children that took them back to their village, said Nabisaab.
His youngest son has made sure that’s a decision he will never regret. As Mateen said, “More than me, my parents are overjoyed at my result.”
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