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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.

In Defence of the Printed Word

World News Day reminds us that journalism, whether in print or pixels, is a trust that must be earned every single day.

The thud of the newspaper on my doorstep each morning is a sound I cherish, a quiet rebellion against the digital cacophony that has consumed our lives. As the world gallops toward a future of AI-generated headlines and algorithm-driven narratives, this simple act of a human hand delivering ink on paper reminds me that news is more than information. It is intimacy and trust. And that trust is not accidental. It recalls my journalism studies in 1983, when we were taught that a newspaper was a sacred trust, not merely a commodity. The weight of that lesson has never left me. It is a trust that World News Day, observed on September 28, reminds us must be earned anew, every single day.


Early beginnings

News has always been a storyteller and a quiet provocateur. Long before the whir of presses or the glow of smartphones, information travelled by human voice. In ancient India, news was carried not in columns but in rhythm: drum-beaters stood in village squares, their booming voices announcing the king’s decrees, victories in distant battles, or tax demands that would shape a farmer’s season.


These broadcasts were blunt but effective - the first mass media of their age.


Centuries later, during the colonial era, news took on a more dangerous, subversive character. The newspaper, though ostensibly a neutral record, became a subtle battlefield. A government notice might occupy one column while a coded message of dissent, worded carefully to dodge censorship, was slipped into another. Ordinary readers became adept at reading between the lines, drawing courage from words that said less than they meant.


For those who read them, newspapers are more than sheets of paper. They are akin to confidants. The rustle of newsprint with morning coffee is a daily comfort, almost like a shared secret between a publication and its people. That spirit of connection has today migrated to glowing screens, but the essence of news – of the human urge to know, to share and to understand - has never lost its voice.


Many meanings

The theme of ‘truth in journalism’ is the very core of World News Day, born from the understanding that an informed citizenry is the lifeblood of a democracy. Yet what does ‘news’ really mean to an ordinary person? For me, it has always felt like a complex blend of needs, not unlike our relationship with food.


At its most fundamental, news is about survival: a farmer scanning the skies and checking the monsoon forecast, a family tracking the rising cost of onions, a small business owner poring over policy changes that might alter his future. These are needs as basic as bread.


Then there is the news that resembles a sugary snack in form of the celebrity scandal, the shocking accident, the gossip that momentarily amuses but quickly fades. We indulge, but it rarely nourishes.


And finally, there is the sustaining meal, the serious journalism that enables us to understand the politics, economics and social currents shaping our lives. This is where the true measure of journalism lies - not in its ability to distract, but in its capacity to empower.


News, when honest, can stir powerful emotions. It can provoke anxiety with stories of global conflict, or inspire hope with accounts of resilience against impossible odds. But its highest calling is empowerment. A citizen who grasps the contours of a government’s budget, or who understands the fine print of a new bill, is a citizen who can participate meaningfully in democracy and refuse easy answers.


But here lies the double edge. Precisely because news stirs emotion, it can also mislead. ‘Fake news’ often spreads more quickly than truth because it is designed for instant gratification. Real news, with its nuance and factual grounding, can feel slow and unsatisfying.


Fake news, by contrast, preys on confirmation bias, offering villains to despise or heroes to cheer. It tells us what we want to hear, serving up a fleeting rush. Small wonder that a dog biting a man is routine, but a man biting a dog is news.


The historical evolution of journalism traces a fascinating journey from rudimentary scribes to today’s global digital networks. The printing press was the great disruptor: it democratised information and turned the newspaper into a force that rulers could neither fully control nor ignore. Over centuries, newspapers shed their early role as mouthpieces for power and grew into watchdogs for the public.


Today the challenge is not scarcity of information but its credibility. We are drowning in a flood of data, memes, doctored clippings, and deepfake videos. The very idea of a shared factual reality is under siege. This is a new battlefield where the painstaking craft of verification becomes the ultimate weapon against chaos. The Watergate scandal in the 1970s was not merely an exposé but a demonstration of journalism’s ability to humble the most powerful. The Panama Papers investigation showed how dogged cross-border collaboration could unravel the secrets of the wealthy and well-connected.


Press freedom

For this reason, press freedom cannot be treated as a luxury. It is one of democracy’s vital organs. When the press is shackled, the public is blindfolded. India’s Emergency in 1975 remains a chilling case study when civil liberties were suspended, dissent crushed and the media reduced to a chorus of officialdom.


Thomas Jefferson’s famous remark, that he would prefer newspapers without government to government without newspapers, captures this tension. He later bristled at a critical press himself, but the principle endures. No democracy survives long without a free, irreverent and questioning press.


Today, threats to journalism are subtler than outright censorship. They come as economic coercion, legal intimidation, or coordinated campaigns of online harassment. Social media, initially heralded as liberating, now enables trolling at industrial scale. Yet even in this climate, the stubborn spirit of inquiry persists. The decline of print is real, and in many places irreversible. Young readers rarely touch a broadsheet, and presses fall silent each year. But journalism is not dying; it is migrating. Digital platforms have lowered barriers, giving new voices a stage. They have also multiplied noise, accelerating the spread of falsehoods.


Yet it is often local news that proves most enduring. A report about a pothole in one’s neighbourhood, an exposé of a corrupt municipal officer, or a story about a local school outperforming expectations connect directly with people’s lives. They remind us that truth, however globalised the news cycle may become, remains tethered to the ground.


Perhaps one day my grandchildren will never wait for a folded paper at the door. They may swipe holograms or hear bulletins whispered by a chip in their ear. Yet I hope they will still pause to ask: Who told me this, and why should I believe it?


Ultimately, World News Day is not about the press alone. It is about us - the readers, listeners, and viewers - who must demand sharper, more honest reporting. The unfinished story of news is a story we are still writing, together. And so, each morning, I continue to cherish that thud on the doorstep. It is the slow meal amid fast food and the indispensable irritant that keeps democracy alive.


(The writer is a Bengaluru-based political commentator. Views personal.)

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