“His service concludes, but his intellect must fuel the nation’s schooling future.”
By Javeed Abdullah
JAVEED ABDULLAH
As the chilly autumn breeze sweeps across Kashmir’s educational corridors and the leaves of chinars begin to fall, another gentle departure quietly approaches—one that carries decades of service, reform, and devotion within it. Today, on 31st October 2025, Dr. G. N. Itoo (JKAS), the Director General School Education Kashmir, bids adieu to the department after an illustrious career, leaving behind an imprint that will continue echoing within classrooms, administrative chambers, and young minds for years to come.
His career has not merely been a journey through the bureaucratic ladder; it has been a lived philosophy—a personal mission to strengthen public education, democratize opportunities, and refine the scaffolding on which thousands of futures stand. This is not just a retirement—it is the conclusion of a chapter authored with integrity, commitment, and vision.
Born in the picturesque valley of Doru Shahabad, a historically rich and culturally vibrant area of District Anantnag, Jammu & Kashmir, on 10 October 1965, Dr. Itoo grew up in a region known for its literary heritage and social consciousness. He developed early values of discipline, humility, and community service—qualities that continued to shape his administrative outlook.
He grew up in an atmosphere where education was not merely a requirement—it was a revered cultural aspiration. His childhood mirrored countless Kashmiri students—mornings woven with school bells, evenings brushed with lantern-lit study sessions, and weekends filled with community interactions. But even then, one trait quietly distinguished him—an insatiable hunger to learn, observe, and reflect.
Classmates recall him as soft-spoken, curious, and ever-helpful. Teachers admired his discipline and foresight, hinting early on that leadership coursed naturally through his veins. His formative years built the foundation of his philosophy—that education is powerful only when it humanizes.
Upon completing his foundational schooling, he advanced through higher education with remarkable distinction. He pursued his Bachelor’s from Kashmir University, Master’s from Aligarh Muslim University (with a Gold Medal), and Ph.D. from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, with academic brilliance, developing a special inclination toward administration. His scholarly journey culminated in a doctorate, solidifying his profile not merely as an administrator but as a research-grounded academic leader. His education framed his worldview—that data-based, empathetic, child-centric planning is the spine of a successful education system.
Choosing to join the Jammu & Kashmir Administrative Services (JKAS) was not an accident—it was a calling. The decision aligned perfectly with his enduring belief in systems, structure, and service. From his earliest postings, colleagues observed qualities rare and precious in public officers—clarity, listening ability, decisiveness, and humility.
Assignments in diverse departments polished his administrative acumen. Every district, every office, and every file became part of his practical schooling. He approached administration not as a desk-bound engine but as a people-oriented ecosystem.
When he assumed key positions within the Department of Education, his professional arc bent toward transformation. His leadership was not about holding office—it was about reshaping systems. Educators fondly remember his accountability mechanisms, human-first policy decisions, and forward-looking reforms.
As the Director General School Education Kashmir, Dr. G. N. Itoo drove initiatives that infused energy into the apparatus. Under his leadership, school infrastructure evolved, digital interventions accelerated—bridging post-pandemic learning gaps. Teacher capacity building strengthened through training, workshops, and exposure programmes. Transparency in administration improved. Special enrollment drives revived hope in government schools.
Co-curricular culture witnessed a renaissance—youth festivals, Olympiads, Kala Utsav participation, counselling camps, and career conclaves. He believed that education must shape the whole child—mind, heart, and character.
Beyond designations, he was known for something even more precious—accessibility. Teachers admired that he always listened. Students loved that he always encouraged. Officers respected that he always understood. His office door was not a portal of intimidation but of approachability. He valued dialogue, consensus, and fairness.
His administrative signature was clear: “A child’s future cannot wait for file movement.” That sentence alone stirred urgency within the system.
What was special about him was his refusal to treat reforms as short-term projects. He emphasized sustainable infrastructure, teacher motivation, counselling and guidance, digital attendance transparency, quality inspections, and district development indices in education. He was not building for a posting—he was building for a generation.
Education departments often face crises—pandemic closures, curriculum challenges, staffing shortages, and examination reforms. During such fluctuations, his calm presence acted as a stabilizer. His decisions were measured, his communication empathetic, his planning meticulous.
He often repeated: “A strong teacher is a strong nation.” His tenure launched tangible interventions—subject-specific workshops, leadership training for heads of institutions, administrative orientation for zonal officers, and encouragement of innovation and research-based pedagogy. Teachers who once felt bureaucratically ignored experienced newfound respect and recognition.
Child-Centric Initiatives: Beyond the Classroom
For him, a child was not an enrollment number—they were a dream builder. He oversaw special counselling sessions for mental health, career guidance conclaves across districts, participation in national-level talent platforms, and inclusion of specially-abled children in mainstream activities. Students began to see government schools not as survival spaces but as opportunity hubs.
Under his leadership, culture was not sidelined. Kala Utsav participation expanded, folk arts resurfaced, and traditional storytelling, painting, music competitions, and theatre festivals nurtured creativity. This revival demonstrated his belief that “Education without culture is information without soul.”
From model classrooms to girl-friendly facilities, from science labs to boundary walls—infrastructure upgradation gained unprecedented momentum. He ensured that school structures reflected dignity, safety, and belonging. Children began to feel proud walking through their school gates—and pride, in education, is priceless.
Ask anyone in the department, and they will echo a single adjective: “Unparalleled.” A quiet, consistent moral compass. Files under his review moved on merit, not through favour. His signature symbolized fairness.
In a bureaucratic world where shortcuts often tempt, he chose the long road—because that is the only road toward legacy.
Dr. G. N. Itoo nurtured an administrative culture. Young officers found a mentor in him. Zonal heads felt guided, not commanded. School heads felt supported, not inspected. His leadership style was not top-down; it was scaffolded empowerment. He corrected without humiliating, supervised without suffocating, and motivated without theatrics.
Education, he believed, is not confined to classrooms alone. Recognizing this truth, he encouraged parental counselling, community mobilization, village-level enrollment drives, and outreach awareness on public schemes. Education became a community dialogue, not an institutional monologue.
The 21st century demands digitized systems. Under his watch, platforms like digital attendance, online monitoring dashboards, academic audits, and departmental transparency mechanisms tightened accountability loops. To him, digitization was not a trend—it was a responsibility.
Though awards and appreciations touched his career, what elevated him most was people’s trust. Teachers salute him in staffrooms. Students quote him in speeches. Officers cite him in meetings. Parents mention him in village gatherings. Trust is the highest award a public servant can receive.
One of his favourite notions remained: “Education lifts those whom destiny leaves behind.” He believed that schools are not buildings—they are equalizers.
Behind every file, there was empathy. Behind every policy, a learner. Behind every circular, an aspiration. He prioritized dignity—never letting a school head feel inferior, never letting a teacher feel unseen, never letting a child feel invisible.
He was known to pause meetings to listen to a crying parent, to respond personally to grievances, to visit remote zones unannounced—not to punish, but to understand. That human touch elevated his administrative stature beyond rank.
Some impacts can be photographed—buildings, labs, playgrounds. Others cannot—confidence, resilience, academic culture, morale. The latter is where his true legacy rests. Like a silent architect, he strengthened learning environment culture, examination fairness, attendance discipline, counselling outreach, and community participation. These invisible monuments will stand for decades.
Today, on his superannuation, the air across education offices grows heavy. Teachers speak of him with moist eyes. Officers recount memories. Students wish he could stay a little longer. Farewell is cruel to those who served beautifully.
Reflections of the Staff:
When asked what they will miss most, the responses converge—his smile, his patience, his clarity, his fairness, his presence during crises, his prompt responses, his gentle but firm directions.
In corridors, one hears:
“He shaped us without ever raising his voice.”
For the Students: A Father-Figure Administrator
To students, his career messages sound like personal advice: Dream beyond boundaries. Respect your teachers. Build character, not just careers. Ask questions—curiosity is fuel. Books open portals to dignity.
To them, he was the rare administrator who spoke their language.
Today, on 31st October, at his superannuation, there will remain only memories, policies, dreams, reforms, and gratitude.
The computer may log out, but history will remain logged in.
“The best leaders are those who plant trees under whose shade they do not expect to sit.”
“Legacy is not what we leave for people, but what we leave in people.”
Superannuation does not conclude service—it simply changes its address. With wisdom acquired from decades of field-level engagement, Dr. G. N. Itoo’s advisory capacity, mentorship, and intellectual contribution will remain invaluable to Kashmir’s educational landscape.
Generations from now, when a child in the valley recites confidently, when a girl from a remote village becomes an engineer, when a government school stands tall with dignity—some piece of credit will quietly trace back to a soft-spoken officer who believed systems could improve, teachers could excel, and children could rise.
Today evening, as the chinars blush red and the sun sets behind the snow-draped peaks, the final bell of his official duty will ring. But in thousands of schools across the valley, countless other bells will continue ringing—louder, clearer, and more meaningfully—because he once led them.
Farewells are inevitable. Legacies are optional. He chose to leave a legacy.
And so, I whisper softly
Goodbye, Sir.
Not from memory, but only from schedule.
(Note: Writer is an Academician, Author, Columnist, and Stage Host. He can be reached at: Javeedwrites378@gmail.com)
