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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.

Ekta Bhyan, Quiet Gold

The strongest lessons in life rarely arrive with drumbeats. They come quietly, sit beside us, and stay long after the applause fades. I learnt this at the recent Peakst8 Festival in the world-class Padukone-Dravid Centre for Sports Excellence Bengaluru. The venue was full of ambition, energy, loud confidence and polished success stories. Yet, it was gold-winning para-athlete Ekta Bhyan who held my attention, not by raising her voice, but by lowering the noise around her.


She was an integral part of a panel discussing what it takes to reach the Olympics. Others spoke of pressure, fame and sacrifice. Ekta spoke of routine. Of turning up. Of patience. There were no heroic flourishes in her words. Each sentence was measured, calm and grounded. Listening to her, I sensed a deep reserve of experience. She was not trying to impress. She was simply explaining how life had unfolded.


A spinal injury, in 2003, had left her paralysed. This is usually where stories pause for sympathy. Ekta’s does not. She spoke of rebuilding, not rebelling. Of learning what the body could still do, and then working patiently within those limits. Para sport entered her life quietly, not as rescue, but as direction. Over time, she found her space in the F51 club throw, a demanding discipline where balance, precision and control matter more than force.


What stayed with me was her restraint. She mentioned podium finishes only in passing. International meets, Asian Para Games, world championships, all appeared briefly and then moved aside. Even the gold medal she had earned was referred to almost casually, as one would mention a milestone on a long road. For her, medals are not destinations. They are confirmations.


Steely Discipline

Ekta spoke about training. It is not exciting, she said. It repeats itself. Progress hides. Muscles resist. The mind looks for shortcuts. Yet commitment must remain steady. She described days when success meant completing a session without excuses. On some mornings, it was finishing gym work despite fatigue. Evenings meant outdoor practice, carefully timed because regulating body temperature is a constant challenge after spinal injury.


For nearly three years, she has not missed a single day of training. With limited muscle use and only about forty per cent lung capacity, each session needs careful planning. Her shoulders are her strongest allies. Other muscles cooperate less. Fingers offer no strength at all. Still, she works with what she has. Over the last four years, this discipline has translated into results. Gold medals at national championships. A bronze at the Asian Para Games. Gold and bronze at the World Championships in Paris in 2023. This season alone, she added gold at the Indian Open Paralympic Championships and a silver soon after. Her personal best stands at 21.5 metres, and she speaks of improving it, not defending it.


There was a gentler revelation too. As a young girl, Ekta had once dreamt of becoming a doctor. She wanted to heal. Life rewrote the syllabus. Yet, listening to her, I realised she still heals. Not with medicine, but with example. Her journey treats assumptions and restores belief, quietly and effectively.


Human Moment

After the session, when the crowd thinned, I walked up to her with my notebook. I asked for her autograph, expecting a quick signature. She paused, asked my name, and wrote hers carefully. That small act reflected everything she had spoken about. Presence. Respect. Attention.


Her daily life, she earlier shared, is not simple. She needs two people to help with routine movements, from transferring to travel. Public transport is impossible. Every trip requires planning, space and expense. Often, she bears the cost for three people, not one. Yet, she spoke of this without complaint.


The harder challenge, she said, is mindset. People with disabilities are still seen as separate from the mainstream. Expectations are lowered, often disguised as kindness. Ekta resists this quietly. Her competition is internal. Yesterday versus today. Comfort versus effort. Paralysis, she believes, is a condition, not an identity.


As I left the venue, the applause felt inadequate. Not because it was soft, but because her journey asks for reflection, not noise. Ekta Bhyan reminds us that ambition can change shape without losing meaning. That success does not always announce itself. Sometimes, it arrives quietly, balanced and consistent.


Her strength lies not only in the distance she throws, but in the steadiness she maintains. And in that quiet balance, Ekta Bhyan offers us something rare. A lesson that stays long after the hall has emptied.


 (The writer is a retired banker and author of ‘Money Does Matter.’)

 


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