For nearly half a minute, Gita Karmarkar could not speak.

The retired health supervisor from Belakoba Rural Hospital in West Bengal had just been told that she had been selected for the National Florence Nightingale Award for Nurses 2026 — one of the country's highest honours for nursing professionals.

She thought it was a prank.

The official laughed and reassured her that the news was genuine. President Droupadi Murmu would present the award at Rashtrapati Bhavan on 12 May, International Nurses Day. After the call, Gita received an email confirming the same.

The happiness, however, was short-lived.

The following day, her mother died.

Less than three weeks later, carrying grief alongside gratitude, Gita travelled to Delhi to receive the honour she had never expected.

On 12 May 2026, the President of India presented the National Florence Nightingale Awards at Rashtrapati Bhavan to nurses recognised for exceptional service to public health.

For Gita, the ceremony felt surreal.

"I never imagined I would receive this award," she said. "I believe it was my mother's blessing."

The honour marked the culmination of more than four decades spent serving some of the most underserved communities in northern West Bengal.

Four decades in the tea gardens

Gita's career began in 1983, when she joined the health department after completing her nursing training in Jalpaiguri.

Her first posting as an auxiliary nurse midwife was at Belakoba Rural Hospital. Within days, she was transferred to Danguajhar Tea Garden, a predominantly tribal region with limited access to healthcare facilities and almost no awareness of institutional healthcare.

The challenges were immediate.

There was no health centre in the area, and plans to establish one had only just begun to emerge. For her first two years, Gita conducted clinics from a marketplace veranda with nothing more than a chair and a table.

Most childbirths took place at home. Vaccination rates were extremely low. Malnutrition among children was common, and many families depended on traditional healers for illnesses ranging from fevers to tuberculosis.

Healthcare workers often had to build trust before they could begin discussing treatment, immunisation or maternal care.

Every day, Gita cycled between 12 and 14 kilometres across the tea garden settlements, visiting homes, maintaining records and persuading families to seek medical care.

Over time, residents began referring to her affectionately as "Polio Didimoni" and, for many, simply "Maa".

The tea garden was officially believed to have a population of around 3,000 people. But after conducting detailed household surveys covering pregnancies, births, vaccinations and family planning, Gita discovered that more than 5,500 people were living in the area.

"Our relationship with Polio Didimoni spans three generations," says 30-year-old tea garden worker Reshma Chhetri. "I became pregnant in my teens, and she guided me through both my deliveries in 2013 and 2020. Years earlier, in 1995, she had also helped my mother-in-law deliver my husband. Today, she has cared for three generations of our family."

Reshma says Gita's warmth never changed, even after retirement. "People working in the tea gardens often ignored their health problems in those days.........

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