That’s how I usually begin when people ask me why I left a comfortable city life. But the truth is — I didn’t leave something behind; I went back to where I truly belonged.
My name is Chhavi Rajawat, and I am the sarpanch of a small village called Soda, in the Tonk district of Rajasthan. But before that, I was an MBA graduate, working in boardrooms, sipping endless cups of coffee while discussing market trends and brand strategies. I wore heels, suits, and dreams stitched in English. Yet, even in those bright offices, a part of me remained in the dusty lanes of Soda — the village where I grew up running after buffaloes and climbing trees without permission.
My grandfather once served as the sarpanch of Soda. He was a man of great integrity, who believed that a village’s strength lies not in its land, but in its people. I think that belief found its way into me, quietly, like the smell of rain that lingers long after a storm.
Years later, when I visited Soda after my grandfather’s passing, I saw that the same soil looked tired. The ponds had dried up. The school walls were broken. Women still walked miles for water. And yet, what struck me most wasn’t the poverty — it was the silence. People had stopped expecting change.
That silence haunted me.
I was 30 when I decided to contest the village election. Some laughed. “She’s too modern,” they said. Others whispered, “She’ll leave in a month.” But I didn’t come back for applause. I came because I couldn’t stand the thought of a village dying quietly while I built brands in air-conditioned rooms.
When I became sarpanch, I had no political godfather, no large funds. What I did have was an education, a belief in teamwork, and a stubborn refusal to accept “this is how it’s always been.”
The first challenge was water. Soda had seen years of drought. So, I began with what we had — the people. We revived old rainwater harvesting systems, built check dams, and repaired tanks. I went door to door convincing families that clean water wasn’t a luxury; it was a right. Some nights, I returned home exhausted, covered in dust and doubts. But every drop we saved gave us strength to try again.
Then came education. I couldn’t forget the faces of girls peeking into classrooms from outside because they weren’t allowed in. We started a campaign to bring them back — books instead of bangles, pens instead of pots. Watching the first batch of girls complete school remains one of the proudest moments of my life.
Slowly, Soda began changing. Solar lights replaced kerosene lamps. Toilets were built in homes that never had one. Computers arrived in our school — and so did curiosity. I remember one child asking, “Didi, can I Google my dream?” That question still makes me smile.
In 2011, when I was invited to speak at the United Nations, I stood there in a simple sari, representing not myself, but every village girl who was told her dreams were too small. I spoke about how rural development isn’t charity — it’s the foundation of our country’s future.
But I’ll admit something — leadership in a village isn’t glamorous. It’s raw and real. There are days when people resist, when projects stall, when hope feels heavier than stone. Yet every time I feel tired, I walk to the pond we rebuilt. I watch the reflection of trees ripple in the water, and I remember why I began.
I didn’t come to save Soda. I came to remind it of its own strength.
People often call me “the MBA Sarpanch,” as if my degree is my biggest achievement. But what truly defines me isn’t my MBA — it’s the lessons my village taught me: that progress is patience, leadership is listening, and dignity doesn’t need English to speak.
Today, when I see little girls in Soda walking to school with books in hand, I know the story has come full circle. I see myself in them — curious, stubborn, unafraid.
And every evening, when the sun sets behind the hills and the village lights begin to glow softly, I feel something stir inside me. It’s the quiet pride of knowing that I may not have changed the whole world —
but I changed the world that raised me.
: URvindita E Magazine
