In one of India’s most backward states, more than 16,000 tribal children are being tutored, free of cost, in the ways of the modern world. The force behind the movement, educationist Achyuta Samanta and founder of Kalinga Institute of Social Sciences (KISS), firmly believes that what you sow is what you reap

My first interaction with Achyuta Samanta happens over the phone: me, in Dubai, inside the Metro as it snakes down the glittering Sheikh Zayed Road; he, in Bhuwaneswar, capital of Orissa, India’s most backward state, that appears — with clockwork regularity — at the bottom of the Human Development Index.

Speaking with an easy familiarity, he thanks me that I am in the process of “coming down to attend our institute’s function in Bhuwaneswar”.

“Thank you for inviting me,” is all I can rustle up before my voice is drowned in the din of an approaching station.

I had not heard of Achyuta Samanta — till his extremely persuasive right-hand man Mahendra Prasad contacted me out of the cold, and requested if I could attend one of catchy-sounding KIIT’s (Kalinga Institute of Industrial Technology — and, yes, a few friends did ask me if there was a KAT extension to KIIT) dos as a special guest.

KIIT, I go on to learn, is an umbrella university (KIIT being a nomenclature since industrial technology was its first foray, even though it soon diversified into a host of streams), its various faculties occupying 25 sq km of campus area in Orissa’s capital — a sort of township as it were. It was awarded a deemed university status in 2004, its 12^th year of existence. And it has had a retinue of VIPs, including Indian heads of state, visiting its campus.

The catchier-sounding KISS — Kalinga Institute of Social Sciences — is a free residential school for tribal children (Orissa is home to one of the largest chunks of tribal population in India); it is, in a sense, the conscience-harbinger of the hydra-headed educational empire that  Samanta has set up.

What really grabbed my interest was a snatch penned by the gentle Bond — Ruskin Bond — in a 2010 issue of Outlook magazine (the author is now brand ambassador of KIIT’s international exchange programme school): “In Bhubaneswar,” Bond wrote eloquently, “I discovered the Kalinga Institute of Social Sciences, and its amazing founder and guiding light, Achyutananda Samanta — a humble, straightforward, inspired man who has taken upon himself the responsibility of educating and looking after… children from tribal areas across Orissa. Samanta is a man who has known poverty and deprivation. He grew up convinced that ‘illiteracy causes poverty and literacy drives it away’. He started KISS in 1993. Today, it is the largest free residential institution for tribal children in Asia.”

Four days after my first conversation with him, I meet Samanta face to face on the KISS campus. Funnily enough, the first thing that strikes me about him is that he will never need to get a facial done: his skin positively glows… He laughs ever so often, and his eyes crinkle up — but there is a combustible, inner radiance to him.

As a group of happy tribal kids prance up to us and brag about their recent trip to Vietnam (where they were sent for a sport tourney — “and they won the first prize!” Samanta exults), we settle down for a much-needed conversation over steaming cups of masala chai.

Life as he’s known it

Samanta learnt it the hard way. He lost his father (who worked in Jamshedpur, Bihar) when he was four, and his mother had to get him and his six siblings back to their village in Orissa. “One of my dad’s colleagues was kind enough to supply us with a monthly ration of dal and rice for a year… Then, my mother had to beg for money from relatives… Soon after, my two elder brothers got temporary jobs at my dad’s old company and fled the nest, and we, the younger lot, all chipped in with a bit of manual labour to make ends meet.”

In the early 70s, young Samanta would help his mother with paddy cultivation; once the rice was de-husked, they sold the husk as cattle feed. “There was a time when, three months on the trot, my mother cooked us a certain variety of saag that grew wild near the riverside… we would also have drumstick leaves… Till today, long after those days of penury are behind me, I can’t do without them.”

He finished high school in 1980 (“I got a first division — I still don’t know how!”), and joined college (with some financial help from his elder brothers who had, by now, “settled down”) to do a BSc, and then a Masters in Chemistry (“I somehow liked the subject”).

In 1987, he became a Chemistry lecturer — and remained one for the next 10 years. “I was itching to do something of substance, you know, that could change lives, and I realised now was the time.” With private tuitions supplementing his modest wages and some personal loans from friends (“those days, banks were not so liberal”), he started KIIT (the Kalinga part being a throwback to the old name of the state — “going back to the roots”) in 1992 as an industrial technology diploma school with 12 students, in a rented building.

KISS started in 1993, as the spinoff ‘free school for tribal children’.

By the mid-90s, as Samanta upped his borrowings and diversified his portfolio, he piled up a good amount of debt. He can laugh about it now, but “I was actually stupid enough to consider ending my life”. Providence struck when a bank sanctioned him a Rs 25 lakh (2.5 
million) loan. He paid 
off his debts, moved out of the rented building 
and “started my first campus… handpicked good teachers…”

The rest, of course, is history. Circa 2012, KIIT is a multi-dimensional autonomous body with degree courses ranging from medicine, engineering and law to fashion, film studies and sculpturing. KISS thrives with a student body of 16,500.

Samanta gets reflective now. “I believe all the good that came to me is a result of the life I’ve led…” His voice trails off.

Wants, needs 
and luxuries

As a child, while his family was struggling for a square meal a day, Samanta used to do the weekly vegetable shopping for a bunch of people in his village. “I earned a little pocket money that way… I could have easily pinched a few coins here and there to make a few extra bucks… But I would always match accounts and ensured all finances were in place… with money, I was very organised.”

Today, he doesn’t have a bank account in his name; “everything’s in the institute’s name”. He takes home a monthly salary of Rs 50,000. “I keep Rs 15,000 for personal expenses, and return the remaining Rs 35,000 to the KIIT kitty.” He’s requested all his staff members to give a certain percentage of their salaries as donation — “it’s not binding, mind you, but most of them pitch in happily”.

Ironically enough, he doesn’t apply his personal standards to his staff, many of who are foreign expats; “they are among the best-paid in the country”. He beams: “Professionals need monetary motivation. They’ve been given luxury cars. I don’t need to drive one, so I drive a Zen [the small car].”

“These kids”, on the other hand, need to be exposed to the real world. “If you look at the city slum kids, they at least have a fair idea of what’s going on in the world… but the tribal children… living under the shadow of the Maoists… they are so misguided. Ideally, once their education is over, they will get white-collar jobs; and if they don’t, their vocational training ensures they are employed in some way…”

The Bachelor

How come he never married? “I’m 47,” Samanta says defensively.

“You can still get married,” I plod on.

He smiles. “It wouldn’t have been fair to make a woman lead the kind of life I do… for all you know, she would not be able to understand my struggles. Besides, marriage is a big responsibility — I didn’t want that to sidetrack me from my mission…” Actually… (pause) “I’d decided I wouldn’t get married when I was 35,” he reveals with a grin.

What about the rest of his family? “All my siblings are, by the grace of God, well-settled… all in various parts of Orissa…” But none of them are involved with KIIT, he adds. “I’m very clear about that.”

The man and his 
mission

Samanta has his share 
of detractors — questioning why someone should be so ‘socially’ motivated — but he says he simply puts his head down and continues his march. “I believe in God, I respect all religions and I’m here to do my bit to give these kids a chance to lead a decent life… My credo is ‘illiteracy causes poverty and literacy drives it away’… and I am happiest when others tell me ‘if there were more people like you, poverty would never even raise its ugly head’.”

He maintains he’s in debt, thanks to the frantic pace of growth, but he’s confident he’ll balance out the accounts soon enough. “Give me seven to eight years,” he smiles.

“Meanwhile, I’m not going to compromise by cost-cutting — growth is so organic: I have to plough back profits into my mission for it to be worth all this effort.”

So what’s in it for him? “I’ve not taken a break for the past 19 years, I work 16 hours a day — and I’m not saying this because I think I’m doing something extraordinary… I’m saying it because I wouldn’t want things to be any other way… I love what’s happening… This is what’s in it for me.”

It’s called the KISS of life.

sushmita@khaleejtimes.com