‘He never let grief stop governance’: How Siddaramaiah endured his son’s death, a bureaucrat recalls

With the resignation of Shri Siddaramaiah as Chief Minister on May 28, an important chapter in Karnataka’s politico-administrative history comes to a close. He has said he will remain politically active, but his departure from office nevertheless marks the end of an era.

I had the privilege of serving as his Principal Secretary and also as state’s Finance Secretary with him as the Finance Minister. Much has been written about his remarkable journey from a modest background to becoming Karnataka’s longest-serving chief minister, his political acumen and his astonishing memory for facts and figures.

Rather than revisit those well-known attributes, I would like to share a few personal memories that reveal the resilience, composure and sense of purpose that defined him.

One incident remains etched in my memory.

In July 2016, Siddaramaiah received the distressing news that his son, Rakesh, had been seriously injured and admitted to a hospital in Antwerp, Belgium. The chief minister immediately prepared to leave, and I accompanied him. A few hours before our departure, however, Transport Minister Ramalinga Reddy arrived at Kaveri, along with leaders of the striking KSRTC employees’ union. Negotiations had reached a deadlock.

I was present during the discussions. They were long and, at times, tense. Yet Siddaramaiah remained calm and composed. Not once did he betray the anxiety that any father would naturally feel upon hearing such alarming news. After prolonged negotiations, an agreement was reached and the strike was averted. Only then did he leave for the airport.

In Antwerp, he displayed the same stoicism. Every day we visited the hospital, where Rakesh lay in a coma. Yet even in those painful circumstances, he remained attentive to his responsibilities.

Two days into our stay, Bengaluru experienced heavy rains, with large lakes overflowing and parts of the city flooded. Siddaramaiah immediately asked me to arrange a video conference with Bengaluru Development Minister K J George and senior BBMP officials.

From a hotel room in Antwerp, while his son remained critically ill, he conducted a detailed review and issued instructions. His demeanour throughout was calm, focused and decisive. The tragedy that followed is well known. On a Saturday morning, we received the heartbreaking news that Rakesh had passed away.

The chief minister was anxious to immediately return to Mysuru with his son’s mortal remains. A special aircraft was offered, but after discussion it was decided that we would travel on a commercial flight, even if it meant a delay. Siddaramaiah readily agreed.

What followed was a logistical challenge. It was the weekend, and securing the release of the body and completing the necessary formalities was far from easy. The Indian Ambassador to Belgium provided invaluable assistance.

Then External Affairs Minister Sushma Swaraj personally called the chief minister to convey her condolences and assure support. R V Deshpande connected me with Naresh Goyal, Chairman of Jet Airways, who deputed a senior executive from Amsterdam to help us complete the arrangements.

The experience revealed not only the personal tragedy faced by Siddaramaiah but also the dignity with which he bore it.

What impressed me even more was what happened afterwards. Following a brief period of mourning, he returned to office and immersed himself in governance. The next two years saw an energetic and determined chief minister pushing forward an ambitious agenda of welfare and development. Personal grief never diminished his commitment to public duty.

Another aspect of Siddaramaiah that deserves mention is the seriousness with which he approached the annual budget. He would meticulously review departmental proposals, debate policy choices and personally examine every major announcement.

Budget speeches were not mere political documents for him. He would read drafts line by line, often more than once, making corrections and suggesting improvements. His central concern was always whether a proposal would make a meaningful difference in the lives of marginalised and underprivileged communities.

During these discussions, he frequently recalled representations he had received from citizens and legislators and would ask officials whether those concerns could be accommodated. He also insisted on reviewing the Congress manifesto to assess which commitments had been fulfilled and which could be included in the forthcoming budget.

His memory for numbers was legendary. Finance Secretary ISN Prasad would often joke: “Sir, we don’t like you. When we give you approximate figures, you remind us of the exact numbers—even down to the decimals.” Siddaramaiah would laugh and take such remarks in good humour. Beneath his stern public persona was a dry wit that colleagues came to appreciate.

Above all, Siddaramaiah possessed remarkable mental clarity and an unwavering commitment to social justice. He often illustrated it through a simple analogy from rural life.

When drawing water from a village well, he would say, the surface is often covered with weeds, leaves and floating debris. You push them aside with your pot to create a patch of clear water and fill it. But after some time the debris drifts back and covers the surface again.

The lesson, he would explain, is that temporary interventions may provide temporary relief, but unless the underlying structures that create inequality and exclusion are addressed, old patterns inevitably return. Just as the debris returns to the surface of the well, social and economic inequities reappear unless they are tackled through lasting structural change.

It was a privilege to work with Siddaramaiah. I saw at close quarters a leader of exceptional memory, formidable administrative ability and uncommon resilience.

The writer is a former civil servant.