Rural development should be deeply democratic – rooted at the decentralised level, the Gram Sabha
DEVENDRA BUDAKOTI, SOCIOLOGIST
Now that the dust has settled on the Panchayat elections in Uttarakhand, the spotlight turns to the newly elected representatives of the Panchayati Raj Institutions (PRIs).
The expectation is that they will now engage in the serious and participatory work of rural development. In theory, this process should be deeply democratic—rooted in the Gram Sabha, the collective of all adult villagers, who are meant to shape the development agenda from the ground up. But practice, as always, tells a different tale.
Election season in the hills is a spectacle—more carnival than civic ritual. Villages come alive with feasts, liquor, slogans, and soaring promises. Migrants return from cities, sometimes in taxis or buses in by hopeful candidates. Votes are courted with fervor. But once the ballots are counted and the drums fall silent, so too does the presence of these participants. The very people who travelled long distances to vote are absent from the everyday reality of development planning. What remains is a perfunctory exercise—forms filled, checklists ticked, minutes drafted—development becomes bureaucracy in motion, not community in action.
Despite decades of policy rhetoric, rural development in India remains tethered to a Top-Down Approach. Schemes conceived in distant offices trickle down through layers of administrative machinery, landing on villages like abstract mandates. Elected PRI members are often reduced to rubber stamps—endorsing plans they didn’t draft, for problems they didn’t prioritize.
The Community Development Programme (CDP) of 1952—a visionary effort on paper, but one that seeded a vast bureaucratic edifice. Anchored at the district level by the Chief Development Officer (CDO), and operationalized at the block level by Block Development Officers (BDOs), the structure sprawls across departments: agriculture, horticulture, forestry, and more. At the grassroots, the once modest Gram Sewak has been rebranded as the Village Development Officer (VDO)—a semantic upgrade, but little more. Yet, the lives of villagers have not fundamentally changed.
The Balwantrai Mehta Committee in 1957 proposed a decentralised, Three-Tier Panchayati Raj System—with elected representatives at the district (Zila Parishad), block (Panchayat Samiti), and village (Gram Panchayat) levels. It was a bold attempt to make development participatory. But in the absence of real devolution—of power, of funds, of functions—this architecture became ornamental rather than operational.
A government-commissioned study culminated in the landmark 1985 publication, “Grass Without Roots: Rural Development Under Government Auspices” by L.C. Jain and colleagues. Their conclusion was damning: after three decades of developmental initiatives, rural poverty had not declined. In fact, it had deepened. The report laid bare the failure of institutional delivery systems that operated for the people, not with them.
The 73rd Constitutional Amendment (1992) was meant to be a course correction. It mandated regular Panchayat elections, reserved seats for women and marginalized communities, and promised devolution of authority. But thirty years on, the promise remains largely rhetorical. At the grassroots, elected representatives often operate with neither resources nor respect. Power is spoken of, but not shared.
The COVID-19 pandemic and the lockdown, millions of migrant workers—disconnected from social security, stranded in informal economies—made their way back to villages. The phenomenon of reverse migration momentarily re-centred the village in national discourse. But the rehabilitation measures rolled out were stopgap at best. In Uttarakhand, efforts were made, plans announced—but as soon as restrictions eased, the youth returned to the cities. The exodus resumed. Why?
Because planning was out of touch, and the economic aspirations had outgrown what the village could offer. Today’s rural youth—shaped by smartphones, satellite television, and the city’s magnetic pull—no longer share the values of their grandparents. The poetic nostalgia of “Thando re thando, mera pahada ko pani, thando hawa” may warm the hearts of the elderly, but it doesn’t persuade the beti-bwari to walk a kilometre for water. Sentiment cannot substitute for infrastructure.
It is time for the Government of India—and particularly institutions like the NITI Aayog—to dismantle the top-heavy machinery born in 1952? Should we reimagine development by genuinely empowering Panchayati Raj Institutions—not just with responsibilities, but with autonomy, budgets, and legitimacy?
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The author is a sociologist, associated with the development sector. An alumnus of JNU, his work has been cited by Nobel Laureate Prof. Amartya Sen.
Email. ghughuti@gmail.com
