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By:

Shoumojit Banerjee

27 August 2024 at 9:57:52 am

Classroom of Courage

In drought-scarred Maharashtra, a couple’s experiment in democratic schooling is turning child beggars into model citizens In the parched stretches of Maharashtra, from Solapur to the drought-hit villages of Marathwada, a modest social experiment has quietly unfolded for nearly two decades. It is neither a grand government scheme nor a corporate-backed charity. Since 2007, the Ajit Foundation, founded by Mahesh and Vinaya Nimbalkar, has worked with children living at the sharpest edges of...

Classroom of Courage

In drought-scarred Maharashtra, a couple’s experiment in democratic schooling is turning child beggars into model citizens In the parched stretches of Maharashtra, from Solapur to the drought-hit villages of Marathwada, a modest social experiment has quietly unfolded for nearly two decades. It is neither a grand government scheme nor a corporate-backed charity. Since 2007, the Ajit Foundation, founded by Mahesh and Vinaya Nimbalkar, has worked with children living at the sharpest edges of society in Maharashtra. The foundation has become a home for out-of-school children, those who have never enrolled, the children of migrant labourers and single parents, and those who scavenge at garbage dumps or drift between odd jobs. To call their foundation an “NGO” is to miss the point. Vinaya Nimbalkar describes it as a “democratic laboratory”, where education is not merely instruction but an initiation into citizenship. The couple were once government schoolteachers with the Solapur Zilla Parishad, leading stable lives. Yet what they witnessed unsettled them: children who had never held a pencil, begging at traffic signals or sorting refuse for a living. Prompted by this reality, the Nimbalkars resigned their jobs to work full-time for the education of such children. Leap of Faith They began modestly, teaching children in migrant settlements in Solapur and using their own salaries to pay small honorariums to activists. Funds soon ran dry, and volunteers drifted away. Forced out of their home because of their commitment to the cause, they started a one-room school where Vinaya, Mahesh, their infant son Srijan and forty children aged six to fourteen lived together as an unlikely family. The experiment later moved to Barshi in the Solapur district with support from Anandvan. Rural hardship, financial uncertainty and the pandemic repeatedly tested their resolve. At one stage, they assumed educational guardianship of nearly 200 children from families that survived by collecting scrap on the village outskirts. Eventually, the foundation relocated to Talegaon Dabhade near Pune, where it now runs a residential hostel. Twenty-five children currently live and study there. The numbers may seem modest, but the ambition is not. Democracy in Practice What distinguishes the Ajit Foundation is not only who it serves but also how it operates. Within its walls, democracy is practised through a Children’s Gram Panchayat and a miniature Municipal Council elected by the children themselves. Young candidates canvass, hold meetings and present their budgets. Children maintain accounts and share decisions about chores, activities and certain disciplinary matters. In a country where democratic culture is often reduced to voting, the foundation’s approach is quietly radical. It treats children from marginalised backgrounds as citizens in formation. The right to choose — whether to focus on sport, cooking, mathematics or cultural activities — is respected. “We try never to take away what is their own,” says Vinaya Nimbalkar. Rather than forcing every child into a uniform academic mould, individual abilities are encouraged. A boy skilled in daily calculations may not be pushed into hours of bookish study; a girl who excels in cooking may lead the kitchen team. For children who have known only precarity, standing for election, managing a budget or speaking at a meeting can be transformative. On International Women’s Day, the foundation seeks visibility not just for praise but for partnership. If you are inspired by their mission, consider supporting or collaborating—your involvement can help extend opportunities to more children in need.

Ayodhya’s new emblem of power and memory

The hoisting of the saffron standard atop the Ram temple marks not only a religious milestone, but a political and cultural one too.

The unfurling of a saffron flag atop the spire of the Ram temple in Ayodhya on November 25 was choreographed to suggest both antiquity and arrival. This is a ritual that harks back to epic time, and a declaration of a new era in India’s political and cultural life. Performed on Ram Vivah Panchami, and timed to the Abhijit Muhurat - the auspicious convergence of solar and lunar energies - the ceremony was cast as an act that fused cosmology with statecraft.


For many Indians, the moment carried the weight of centuries. The Ram Janmabhoomi movement has long been a lodestone of religious sentiment, political calculation and social mobilisation. The decades of agitation, the demolition of the Babri Masjid, the long legal battles and the disciplined campaign machinery of the Sangh Parivar created a narrative of grievance, perseverance and ultimate vindication. The temple is presented as the final chapter of a struggle that wove together myth, memory and modern politics, transforming an article of faith into a national project.


The symbolism of the flag, an ancient emblem of renunciation and courage, has been folded into this narrative. Hoisted nearly 200 feet above the sanctum, it is meant to signify divine protection as well as cultural authority. That it has become a geopolitical artefact too is no accident. The tradition of Lord Ram has links to a wider Asian inheritance that ranges from from Thailand’s ‘Rama kings’ to the Ramayana-inspired epics of Laos, Cambodia and Indonesia. Ayodhya, in this vocabulary, is not merely a pilgrimage town but a civilisational hub, which radiates soft power across the region.


The ceremony showcases the political ascendancy of Prime Minister Narendra Modi. His government’s investment in Ayodhya in form of new infrastructure, security arrangements, transport links and a flurry of urban improvements, replicates a model already deployed in Kashi and Ujjain of cultural revival yoked to economic development. These projects are a renaissance of Hindu heritage and as a spur to tourism, employment and national pride.


Yogi Adityanath, Uttar Pradesh’s Chief Minister, has been an essential steward of this vision. His administration has pushed through vast roadworks, tightened policing, and expanded tourism infrastructure, ensuring that Ayodhya is not only symbolically central but materially remade. His blend of clerical authority and administrative discipline has helped institutionalise what began as a religious movement into a broader state agenda.


Ayodhya’s reinvention has been saturated in spectacle. Some 6,000 to 8,000 invited guests, Vedic chants, floral showers and conch shells gave the flag-hoisting the orchestrated grandeur of a national festival.


The saffron flag now flying over Ayodhya is intended much more than a religious marker. It is an emblem of social harmony, cultural renewal and a confident India reclaiming its place in the world. For its critics, the flag may represent exclusion as much as unity; for its supporters, it is the culmination of a long quest.


(The writer is a BJP spokesperson and resident of Ayodhya; associated with the RSS since childhood, he is currently a BJP national media panelist.)

 

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