For 46 years, K.Pitchaiah has clutched onto hope the way most people might hold on to a fading photograph — weathered, creased but never discarded. Now a frail septuagenarian, the farmer still makes the arduous journey to government offices to secure a patta (possession document) for a modest one-acre of land in Errasanigudem village in Telangana’s Nalgonda district. Assigned to him in 1978, the land in survey number 215/3 remains his, yet the pattadar passbook — his legal entitlement — continues to elude him. For the 74-year-old, it is not a mere document; it is the key to dignity, ownership and closure. But despite changing governments, shifting policies and decades slipping by, Pitchaiah’s quest continues, lost in the maze of files and official apathy.
His case is not an exception. In late 2020, Rukmini,a middle-aged resident of Edulabad village in Medchal Malkajgiri district near Hyderabad, was shocked to find that her 16 guntas of land — her only asset — no longer belonged to her, at least on paper. The Dharani portal, touted as a revolutionary land records system by the previous Bharat Rashtra Samithi government, had erroneously recorded someone else’s name in her pattadar passbook. For over three years, Rukmini, who hails from a farmer’s family, made rounds of sub-registrar offices, pleading for a correction. Dharani, meant to be a one-stop solution, turned into a bureaucratic nightmare.
Then there was Juman Bi,a grocery shop owner in Saidabad area of Hyderabadwhose struggle was of a different nature. Coming from an economically disadvantaged background and having lost her husband a few years ago, her 14-year-old daughter’s critical illness became an unmanageable financial burden. Corporate hospitals were beyond her reach, and there was no place she could turn to for the treatment of her child’s neck tumour.
These are not isolated incidents, but indicative of a larger picture that defined much of Telangana’s first decade as a separate State. Since its formation on June 2, 2014, thousands like Pitchaiah, Rukmini and Juman Bi found themselves adrift, with no formal channel to take their woes to the corridors of power. The then Pragati Bhavan, official residence of the Chief Minister, remained off-limits for the public. An intimidating fortress, access was restricted not just for ordinary citizens, but also elected representatives and senior bureaucrats, unless invited. It was, for most, a symbol of how far the State had moved from the people who had once fought for it.
This wasn’t always the case. Many remember how the same premises once echoed with the footsteps of the poor and ailing during the tenure of the late Y.S. Rajasekhara Reddy. Patients would line up with hope, and YSR would refer their cases for treatment under the Chief Minister’s Relief Fund, an initiative that laid the foundation for the pioneering Rajiv Arogyasri health scheme, later emulated across the country.
Change finally came when the Congress party took the reins of the State after the last Assembly elections. One of the first decisions by Chief Minister A. Revanth Reddy was to dismantle the physical and metaphorical walls around the Jyotirao Phule Praja Bhavan (previously Pragati Bhavan). Rejecting its exclusivity, he chose not to reside there himself. Instead, the space was repurposed, to serve the very people it had once shut out.
On December 8, 2023, just a day after Revanth Reddy took oath as CM, the complex reopened under a new name and purpose. Pragati Bhavan became the beating heart of Prajavani, a citizen grievance redressal platform that allows people to walk in, voice their struggles and seek support from the government.
Since then, a steady stream of people — farmers, widows, the sick and ailing, the displaced — have found their way to this newly accessible hub, holding onto documents, and hope. Prajavani, literally translating to “voice of the people”, has become a powerful symbol of Telangana’s evolving relationship with its citizens, one that is rooted not just in governance, but in empathy. And it’s working: Pitchaiah finally received his long-pending pattadar passbook, the error in Rukmini’s land records was corrected, and Juman Bi secured free treatment for her daughter — all within days of registering their respective complaints.
A door finally opens
Every Tuesday and Friday, the once-distant corridors of power now open their doors wide as citizens line up to submit their petitions, each a story of struggle, loss or hope. At the heart of this weekly ritual is a renewed promise: that no voice will go unheard.
Each petitioner receives an acknowledgment slip bearing a unique ID, a small but significant assurance that their plea is part of an accountable process. These grievances are then routed to the relevant authorities, be it heads of departments, district collectors or mandal-level officials, based on the jurisdiction from which the grievance had been received.
But the government hasn’t merely built a funnel for grievances; it has also created a mechanism of response. Realising that certain departments such as Revenue and Welfare attract a heavier flow of petitions, specialised desks manned by senior officials have been set up within the complex. These are active helpdesks where officials offer immediate solutions, guidance, and, often, resolution.
All grievances are recorded and updated on the Prajavani portal (prajavani.cgg.gov.in), adding a layer of transparency and efficiency that has been missing from such public systems for years. To ensure follow-through, the government has mandated the presence of top-level officials, including the State Planning Board vice-chairman holding a Cabinet rank, to promptly handle urgent or complex matters.
Beyond merely receiving petitions, the initiative emphasises direct human engagement. The officials concerned interact with citizens, understand the depth of their issues and commit to a time-bound response. Help desks assist those who may struggle to articulate their problems in formal language, ensuring that technicalities do not drown out genuine voices.
Recognising that not all of Telangana’s citizens live within its borders, the government has also created a separate ‘Pravasi Prajavani’ counter for grievances related to migrant workers in the Middle East and Gulf countries. It is perhaps one of the most telling gestures of an administration trying to bridge distances, both literal and figurative.
Getting to the root of issues
To many bureaucrats, Prajavani has evolved into more than a complaint redressal platform. “It is a vital barometer of governance,” says one senior official, adding, “It allows us to spot gaps, tweak policies and design better systems.”
One of the defining features of the programme is root cause analysis — an attempt not just to resolve the grievance at hand, but to dig deeper into why it occurred in the first place. This proactive approach feeds directly into policymaking and ensuring that services reach marginalised communities effectively. A case in point is the launch of Indira Giri Jalavikasam, a scheme specifically tailored for tribal farmers cultivating podu lands. Based on patterns in grievance data, the government realised a glaring need for irrigation support. The result? A focused initiative to provide solar-powered pump sets to tribal farmers cultivating RoFR (Recognition of Forest Rights) lands.
According to Prajavani State coordinator Divya Devarajan, the goal is not merely to address petitions but to do so in a way that feels logical, respectful and citizen-first. Efforts for continuous improvements in the initiative are on, fostering a culture of learning and adaptability within departments to respond swiftly to emerging challenges, she points out.
Behind the scenes of Prajavani’s growing popularity is a quiet but crucial effort to fine-tune its functioning and ensure grievances don’t just enter a system but emerge with meaningful solutions. Senior officials overseeing Prajavani admit the system is a work in progress, but one that’s learning fast and evolving in real time. Recognising the long-standing gaps in grievance redressal, they have set in motion a structured overhaul, one department at a time.
To avoid delays and shifting of responsibility, grievances are now categorised, and standard operating procedures are being drawn up to streamline resolution. It is not just about assigning responsibility but ensuring accountability. Capacity-building measures — from hands-on orientation to refresher sessions — are being rolled out to equip district- and department-level officials for this citizen-first approach.
One recent example: Additional Collectors (Revenue) were recently trained to handle land-related disputes — the very category that has historically triggered frustration and years-long court battles. By enabling quicker, district-level resolutions, the hope is to prevent another Pitchaiah-like ordeal from dragging across decades.
But speed alone isn’t the metric. Quality control is a key focus. Officials are required to submit detailed action-taken reports, which are assessed for not just timeliness but effectiveness. Review meetings with district authorities and department heads are being held to flag bottlenecks and share best practices.
Importantly, citizen engagement has been made non-negotiable — a shift from the earlier system where petitioners often remained in the dark after submission. Now, officers are expected to actively follow up and communicate outcomes with applicants. A dedicated call centre for collecting citizen feedback is also in the pipeline, aimed at turning one-way complaints into two-way conversations.
Of course, challenges remain. Departments are prompt in responding to many applications, but certain categories, particularly those involving financial allocations, policy decisions, or sub judice matters, continue to face delays. In cases requiring deeper investigation or multi-departmental coordination or resource constraints, timelines are understandably longer.
Even so, the government appears keen to not let the system stagnate. Civil society groups have been roped in to make Prajavani more inclusive and decentralised. A recent pilot project in Adilabad district saw grievance counters set up right at the gram panchayat level. These applications were then routed upwards through the system, ensuring even the most rural voices found a place at the decision-making table.
To stay ahead of the curve, the State has begun integrating Artificial Intelligence to sift through the growing database of grievance petitions. By analysing trends department-wise, officials are hoping to spot systemic loopholes and preemptively resolve issues before they blow up into mass grievances. The idea is simple: fix the pipeline, not just the leaks.
Meanwhile, life-saving interventions haven’t taken a back seat. A dedicated Aarogyasri counter has been set up at Mahatma Jyotirao Phule Bhavan, linking urgent medical cases directly with empanelled hospitals. “In emergencies, we coordinate with the Chief Minister’s Office to fast-track the release of funds for treatment,” says an official, pointing to several cases that were swiftly addressed.
At the helm of this mammoth exercise is G.Chinna Reddy, vice-chairman of State Planning Board. Under his watch, Prajavani has clocked 112 sessions since its inception, an average of two every week. In that time, 53,303 petitions have been formally registered. Of these, 35,001 have been resolved to the satisfaction of the applicants. “We have reached a 66% resolution rate and are aiming to cross the 70% mark,” he says.
Initially, a flood of grievances stemmed from the Dharani land records portal — a reflection of the deep confusion and loss experienced by many. But that tide is now receding, thanks to the government’s move to decentralise dispute resolution. Local bodies have been empowered to settle land-related grievances at the gram panchayat level, removing the bureaucratic hurdles that earlier choked the system.
Today, the bulk of the petitions relate to everyday essentials — ration cards, housing, pensions — and are being resolved more swiftly. With nodal officers from 29 departments showing up for Prajavani twice a week, the response has been overwhelming. “We have seen a record 12,000 applicants coming on a single day,” says Reddy, reflecting both the public’s faith and the scale of the task.
Importantly, efforts are being made to ensure that no voice goes unheard, not even the voiceless. For those who are illiterate or unable to draft formal petitions, a dedicated help desk has been set up. Staffed by trained personnel, the desk listens, writes and files applications based on verbal accounts. “We don’t want someone to be turned away just because they can’t write. The system has to meet people where they are,” he adds.
Published – April 11, 2025 08:32 am IST