Nalinbhai Mehta’s khadi attire rustled as he moved, his square face and broad jaw set with quiet confidence. His deep-set eyes, fixed on a ledger, missed nothing. His voice, though measured, had a presence that filled the room, demanding to be heard.
Numbers and finances flowed through his mind. He saw the financial landscape with the clarity of an eagle soaring above the terrain—swift, precise, and unerring. This keen financial vision made him a pillar of the Kasturba Health Society and instrumental in the very foundation of MGIMS.
He had an uncanny ability to understand and manage money—a skill that proved vital to the organization’s survival and growth. Long before MGIMS came into existence, Nalinbhai’s financial acumen maintained the organization’s fiscal health.
He stretched every rupee to its fullest potential, whether from government grants, donations, or the institution’s own revenue streams—the college and the hospital. Year after year, he produced balance sheets so precise and transparent that they would be the envy of any auditor.
Born in Karachi on January 17, 1917, Nalinbhai Mehta’s early years were a stark contrast of privilege and hardship. The devastating loss of his mother at three and his father at seven left, losses that time would not fully heal. Adding to their hardship, his father, a once-prosperous merchant trading fine crockery in Karachi and Mumbai, faced financial ruin in 1922 when a ship carrying his entire inventory sank. This catastrophe forced the family into bankruptcy, uprooting them from Karachi to start anew in a small town in Gujarat.
Orphaned in early childhood, he found a home in Halvad, a village in Gujarat’s Morbi district, with his stepmother and uncle. Even then, a restless spirit stirred within him. He completed his schooling in Surendranagar (now Morbi), balancing studies with work, as college was a luxury he couldn’t afford. During this time, he apprenticed with photographer J.J. Mehta.
Swept up by the fervour of the independence movement, Nalin joined like-minded activists. His convictions led to four months of rigorous imprisonment at just nineteen, finding him behind bars in a British jail cell for fighting for India’s freedom.
While involved in the struggle, he also honed his accounting skills—an unexpected asset that would later shape his life. This aptitude was perhaps no surprise, as Nalinbhai Mehta, an Audichya Sahastra Brahmin, bore a surname that symbolized financial acumen in Gujarat. “Mehta” traditionally distinguished those adept in business, banking, and accounting—a trait he embodied throughout his life.
In 1936, Sarvodaya worker Babalbhai Mehta urged 19-year-old Nalin to visit Sevagram and meet Gandhi—a meeting that changed his life. Gandhi sent him to the Khadi Gramodyog Vidyalaya to work with economist and freedom fighter J.C. Kumarappa. Under Gandhi’s guidance, Nalinbhai embraced frugality and dedication to work—principles he upheld throughout his life.
Kumarappa’s vision of self-sufficient villages, utilizing local materials and diverse skills, profoundly influenced Nalinbhai. He readily adopted Kumarappa’s austere lifestyle, a practical demonstration of thrift: shaving his head to minimize haircut expenses, wearing simple garments to conserve fabric, and valuing every single paisa. But it was Kumarappa’s teachings on financial management—covering everything from meticulous record-keeping to the rigorous discipline of balancing balance sheets—that truly ignited Nalinbhai’s passion. These skills would become the cornerstone of his future success.
Kumarappa’s financial wisdom truly sparked his passion and set him on his destined path. This bond between mentor and disciple deepened over time. Nalinbhai married Madhu Lata, who came from the same district. Demonstrating his deep affection, Dr. J.C. Kumarappa, who regarded Madhu Lata as his daughter, gave her a gold armlet for her wedding. He also gave Nalinbhai an Omega watch and a Zeiss Ikon camera.
Madhu Lata endured nearly three decades of rheumatic heart disease and a blocked heart valve before her death on May 19, 1987, in Ahmedabad. The couple was blessed with three children: sons Rajiv Lochan and Bharat Bhushan, and a daughter, Vrinda.
He also became involved with Kasturba Hospital and its agricultural fields, commuting by bicycle. He was part of the core group—including Sushila Nayar, Manimala Chaudhury, Wardekar, and Anant Ranade—that founded the Kasturba Health Society in 1964.
In 1964, Sushila Nayar, then India’s Health Minister, inspired by Lal Bahadur Shastri, conceived the idea of a rural medical school and hospital to train doctors for underserved communities. This vision aligned with the upcoming Gandhi Centenary in 1969, prompting the Gandhi Smarak Nidhi to launch a fundraising campaign. Vaikunthbhai Mehta, the first Chairman of the Khadi and Village Industries Commission and a Padma Bhushan recipient for his Gandhian and cooperative work, collaborated with the Gandhi Smarak Nidhi, as did Dr. J.C. Kumarappa. They selected Nalinbhai Mehta to oversee the collected funds. Sadly, Vaikunthbhai passed away in 1964 before the centenary plans fully materialized. Nalinbhai, dedicated to the project, divided his time between Delhi and Sevagram while working for the Nidhi, deepening his connection to Sevagram.
In 1969, the medical school, known as Mahatma Gandhi Institute of Medical Sciences (MGIMS), prepared to open its doors, the Gandhi Smarak Nidhi provided a one-time grant of one million rupees, challenging the fledgling institution to become self-sustaining. Nalinbhai Mehta assumed the roles of finance advisor, member-in-charge, and trustee, playing a pivotal role in the institute’s early development.
He persuaded Dr. Sushila Nayar that the three key people– herself, Manimala Chaudhary, and Nalinbhai – would work for a nominal honorarium of Rs. 500 per month. This honorarium, increasing incrementally by Rs. 500 over the years, reached Rs. 2000 by the time a stroke paralyzed him.
In the early years, Nalinbhai worked alongside Dadarao Shingore, Kanak Das, and Bele, later joined by Bhimrao Pradhan. His workday began at 4 a.m. “Son,” he chuckled, “4 a.m.—that was my happy hour! Those three quiet hours were all mine. No phone calls, no meetings, just me and the numbers. I could really focus on the accounts, balance the books, track the ins and outs of every rupee, and keep track of everything without anyone bothering me. Once the office opened, it was a free-for-all, so I had to be done with the important stuff by then.”
Nalinbhai didn’t just manage the institution’s finances; he commanded them. His desk wasn’t just a place for paperwork; it was a fortress guarding every rupee. A misplaced number in a ledger could earn a raised eyebrow, a questionable expense a booming question. He wasn’t just frugal; he lived it. His own simple lifestyle—a quiet testament to the value of every paisa—spoke volumes. No whispered deals, no shadowy corners in his accounts. Transparency was his watchword.
He knew, and Mr. Tapdiya knew, that financial integrity was paramount. Mr. Tapdiya’s presence was invaluable, providing an extra layer of scrutiny. If ever a rare error slipped past Nalinbhai’s watchful eye, Mr. Tapdiya was there to catch and correct it. Few institutions are fortunate enough to have such individuals—so skilled with numbers and so deeply understanding that sound accounts are the backbone of any organization, without which, everything would fall apart.
It’s no surprise he enjoyed Sushila Nayar’s complete trust and freedom. In 1991, when she visited him at home after his stroke, tears filled her eyes. “Nalinbhai,” she said, “I had no idea how meticulously you kept the accounts. Where will I find someone like you?”
He shared a warm and enduring relationship, akin to family, with Sarla Parekh. Their collaboration went beyond simply asking for money; they worked together to build strong and meaningful connections with donors. Each handshake, each conversation, wasn’t just about money; it was about shared belief in the institution’s mission. He knew a small donation from a local shopkeeper was as vital as a larger gift from a corporation. Every contribution, big or small, was treated with respect.
His dedication wasn’t confined to office hours. His modest home wasn’t just a place to rest; it was a reflection of his commitment. Every saved rupee wasn’t just a number on a balance sheet; it was fuel for the organization’s engine, powering its ability to serve. He understood that every single rupee counted.
Over the years, he forged strong bonds with Sushila Nayar, Manimala Chaudhary, Parmanand Tapdiya, and Sarla Parekh – the driving forces behind the organization. In 1982, he and Shri Tapdiya arranged a lunch meeting between Sushila Nayar and Dhirubhai Mehta, bringing Dhirubhai into the organization. Following Annasaheb Sastrabuddhe’s death, Dhirubhai Mehta filled the void as Vice President, becoming a trusted ally of Sushila Nayar and, after her passing, leading the institute for 24 years.
In 1991, while in Gujarat, Nalinbhai suffered a stroke that silenced his powerful voice and left him without strength in his arms and legs, confining him to his home in Ramdas Colony for nearly a decade. He never recovered, marking the beginning of a profoundly challenging chapter—not only for him but also for his daughter-in-law, Lata.
With unwavering devotion, Lata became his constant companion and caregiver, tending to his every need with boundless compassion. She was more than a daughter-in-law; she was like a daughter, standing by him through every struggle, from the smallest details to the most difficult moments, offering comfort, support, and love.
On June 17, 2000, Sevagram lost one of its own; six months later, Dr. Sushila Nayar followed. These two pillars of the community had been witnesses to MGIMS’s entire story—from its initial conception to its eventual flourishing, including the inevitable growing pains. How many now remember this remarkable history and heritage?
