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By:

Vappala Balachandran

19 September 2024 at 11:21:31 am

Where the Krushna Flows

Mohan Deshmukh’s book From the Banks of Krushna River, originally published in Marathi as Krushnakathavarun, reminds me of my stay in Sangli district (1965-1969), which was one of the most memorable periods in my long government service. His book is a delightful account of Sangli’s rich cultural and artistic heritage. It also tells the story of how a village boy from the district - the son of an honest and upright junior police officer - rose to become a leading builder and later president...

Where the Krushna Flows

Mohan Deshmukh’s book From the Banks of Krushna River, originally published in Marathi as Krushnakathavarun, reminds me of my stay in Sangli district (1965-1969), which was one of the most memorable periods in my long government service. His book is a delightful account of Sangli’s rich cultural and artistic heritage. It also tells the story of how a village boy from the district - the son of an honest and upright junior police officer - rose to become a leading builder and later president of the Maharashtra Chamber of Housing Industry (MCHI), where he sought to bring order to Maharashtra’s often chaotic real-estate sector. More remarkably, it recounts how he walked away from a flourishing business in 2013 in search of inner peace through Vipassana. Although I joined the Maharashtra cadre in 1960, my earlier postings gave me little opportunity to immerse myself in Marathi culture and literature. It was only in Sangli that I came to appreciate, in any depth, the district’s rich traditions of poetry and theatre. In that sense, I was fortunate. Soon after I assumed charge as Superintendent of Police, Sangli, the government acquired a tract of land that had once belonged to the legendary Marathi playwright Govind Ballal Deval (1855–1916). It was chosen as the site for a new police headquarters, complete with a vast parade ground and 300 constabulary quarters, the construction of which became one of my principal responsibilities. Deval wrote at least seven Marathi plays, among them the celebrated Samshay Kallol, broadly inspired by Molière's Sganarelle, or The Imaginary Cuckold. By a happy coincidence, I had watched Samshay Kallol during my district training in Solapur in 1960, long before fate brought me to the land once owned by its author. By 1969 I was able to construct a well-equipped police recreation auditorium and get government approval to name it after the late Deval. The naming ceremony was done by the well-known Marathi writer, the late Padma Bhushan Vishnu Sakharam Khandekar, who later won the Jnanpith award in 1974 for his novel ‘Yayati.’ Sangli was aptly known as Natya Pandhari (“the pilgrimage of Marathi theatre.”) It was here that Vishnudas Bhave, the pioneer of the Marathi stage, premiered Sita Swayamvar, the first Marathi play, in 1843. In my time, nearly every major new Marathi play opened in Sangli. Equally memorable was hearing artistes such as Hirabai Barodkar of nearby Miraj and the poet-lyricist G.D. Madgulkar (Ga Di Mā) of Atpadi, whose Geet Ramayan, beautifully rendered by Sudhir Phadke, became a cherished Sunday ritual on All India Radio. Mohan Deshmukh’s mention of Krushna river, the lifeline of Sangli, its basin and confluence with Warana river also reminds me of my experience of the discordance in Sangli district’s political life. He quotes Ga Di Mā’s wistful poem which had narrated Krushna’s beauty together with its hidden contradictions and sorrows: “Sant vahate Krishnamai, tiravarlya sukhadukhanchi, janiv tijhala nahi” (author’s translation: “Calmly flows Mother Krushna, untouched by the joys and sorrows on her shores”). That was my experience too. Sangli introduced me to some of Maharashtra's political giants—Yashwantrao Chavan, Vasant (Dada) Patil and Rajaram Bapu Patil. Despite my being an outsider, they treated a young police officer with warmth and trust. The pleasantries, however, were brief. Soon after taking charge in 1965, I found myself confronting a violent anti-famine agitation led by the Shetkari Kamgari Paksh in Tasgaon. For days, protesters clashed with the police as they tried to march on the taluka office. During one confrontation, a young demonstrator struck me on the head with a lathi, blaming me for the violence. It was an early glimpse of the defiant spirit that the author captures so well. Sangli, he writes, has long been a land of self-respect and resistance, from its defiance of Mughal rule to the freedom struggle, when "Krantisingh" Nana Patil established the Prati Sarkar, alongside revolutionaries such as Kisan Veer and G.D. Bapu Lad. The book traces the author’s childhood in Tasgaon, Budhgaon and neighbouring villages, his struggle for education, and the timely support he received from the Police Welfare Fund. Running through it is his father’s simple creed: remain honest, however poor, and rise only by lawful means. (The writer is a former Special Secretary, Cabinet Secretariat and member of the two-man high level committee appointed by Govt.of Maharashtra to enquire into the systemic errors during 26/11 Mumbai terror attacks. His latest book, ‘India and China at Odds in Asian Century,’ was published by Hurst London and by Pentagon Press, New Delhi)

When Purpose Outgrows Profit

There are moments when you meet people whose ambition sounds different. Not louder. Not flashier. Just… deeper. It isn’t driven by money, applause, or scale. It is driven by meaning. These are individuals who are not chasing growth for visibility, but for legacy. They want to create something that outlives them, something that speaks for a community, a belief, or an identity that has long remained unheard. Such ambition is rare — and often misunderstood.


In today’s world, success is measured loudly. Followers, revenue, reach, numbers. Yet some of the most powerful creators, founders, and leaders operate in near silence. They are not naturally social. They don’t enjoy the spotlight. They are uncomfortable “selling” themselves. But inside them burns a very real hunger — not for attention, but for impact. The irony is this: the deeper the purpose, the more invisible the person often becomes.


This is where many high-calibre professionals find themselves stuck. They have clarity of intent but not clarity of expression. They know what they want to build, but the world does not yet know why it matters. Their work is rich, but their presence is muted. Their vision is sharp, but their voice is not yet amplified. This is not a talent problem. It is not a capability problem. It is a personal branding problem.


Personal branding is often misunderstood as self-promotion. In reality, it is the art of alignment — aligning who you are, what you stand for, and how the world experiences you. Especially for people driven by purpose rather than popularity, personal branding becomes the bridge between intention and influence.


Without that bridge, even the most meaningful work risks remaining invisible.


Consider how many founders, artists, business owners, and leaders want to build something “for their people” — whether that people is a community, a culture, an industry, or a belief system. Their motivation isn’t commercial alone. It is emotional. Cultural. Almost sacred. Yet because they hesitate to be seen, to speak, to claim space, their message struggles to travel. And when the message doesn’t travel, impact stays limited.


A strong personal brand does not require someone to become louder or more social. It requires them to become clearer. Clear about their values. Clear about their story. Clear about the why behind their work. When that clarity exists, the right audiences find them — not because of noise, but because of resonance.


For leaders driven by legacy rather than limelight, personal branding serves a different purpose. It protects their intent. It ensures that their work is understood in the way it was meant to be. It allows the world to see not just the output, but the soul behind it.


In business and creative ecosystems alike, recognition does not come only from excellence. It comes from perception. From positioning. From the ability to communicate purpose in a way that others can feel. Awards, influence, credibility, and long-term respect often follow those who can articulate their vision — not just execute it.


This is why personal branding is no longer optional for serious creators and founders. Not because they want fame, but because they want their work to matter. Not because they want attention, but because they want alignment. A personal brand, when built with integrity, does not distort who you are — it reveals you. The quietest ambition often needs the strongest articulation.


And perhaps the real question is not whether you are talented enough, or driven enough, or sincere enough. It is whether the world truly understands what you are trying to build — and why it deserves to exist. If you are someone whose hunger is real, whose purpose runs deep, and whose work deserves to be experienced beyond a small circle, it may be time to reflect on how your personal brand is carrying your vision forward.


Not louder. Not flashier. But clearer. And if you’re ready to explore how your personal brand can honour your intent while expanding your impact, you’re welcome to connect for a conversation here: https://sprect.com/pro/divyaaadvaani Sometimes, all it takes is the right articulation for the right ambition to finally be seen.


(The writer is a personal branding expert. She has clients from 14+ countries. Views personal.)

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