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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.

Is Maharashtra Still the Land of Reformers?

Weak anti-superstition law remains a showpiece; fake ‘babas’ flourish, women exploited, crores swindled. Twelve years after Dr Narendra Dabholkar’s murder, his fight for a strong law remains unfinished.

Maharashtra has long prided itself on being the land of saints, warriors and pioneering social reformers. It is this legacy that shaped the State’s progressive identity. But today, that very land stands overshadowed by a rising empire of tantriks, occult practitioners and self-styled godmen thriving on fear, superstition and human vulnerability.

 

Across towns and villages, these godmen have turned into quasi-feudal chieftains—extracting crores from desperate citizens, abusing women, and preying on the socio-economic distress of families. Maharashtra passed an anti–black magic law a decade ago, but on the ground, it remains toothless. If women and ordinary citizens are still falling prey every other day, the question becomes inevitable: Whose Maharashtra is this — the land of saints or the playground of tantriks and fraudsters?

 

A fortnight of exposes

In Kolhapur, a fake healer known as ‘Chutkewala Baba’ was exposed through a sting operation. His tricks? Snapping fingers to “cure” ailments, collecting money, and sexually exploiting women. Once caught, he fled — but was arrested in Mumbai and paraded by Kolhapur Police.

 

Barely a week earlier, Pune Police unearthed a shocking case: an IT engineer and his teacher-wife were duped of ₹14 crore by another godman. In Nashik, a baba was found sexually assaulting women and conning them of ₹50 lakh. One Pune-based godman even created a mobile app to steal devotees’ photos and personal data — using it to blackmail them.

 

These are not isolated incidents. Every corner of Maharashtra sees a market for superstition flourishing openly — and it cuts across religions and castes. The poor fall for it, the educated succumb too. And the State watches.

 

The law gathers dust; the godmen gather crowds.

 

State’s betrayal

In 1983, Dr Narendra Dabholkar launched a campaign against superstition, relentlessly demanding a strong law to curb black magic, occult rituals and exploitative practices. He backed it with scientific reasoning and unwavering commitment. But the law he fought for came only after his assassination — a sacrifice that should have shamed Maharashtra into decisive action.

 

Instead, what emerged was a diluted Act.

 

Twelve years later, Dabholkar’s murder case remains unsolved. The message is chilling — a State that cannot protect its reformers cannot protect its citizens either.

 

The numbers reveal the failure starkly:

 

From 2013 to August 2023, only 58 cases were registered under the Anti-Superstition Act.

 

Not a single prominent godman has been convicted.

 

This, in a decade when godmen’s “darbars” have multiplied across Maharashtra.

 

Why so few cases?

Who protects these babas?

Which politicians seek their blessings before elections?

How many candidates rely on ‘rituals’ for votes?

 

If superstition spreads with political patronage, the law becomes a farce.

 

Time is running out — strengthen the law or lose Maharashtra’s progressive identity

 

Maharashtra today stands at a crossroads. Either the State strengthens the Anti–Black Magic Act, empowers enforcement agencies, and cracks down on predatory godmen without political compromise, or it risks losing the very legacy its saints and reformers built.

 

If urgent steps are not taken, the progressive tilak on Maharashtra’s forehead will fade — replaced by a stain of blind belief and exploitation.

 

The choice is clear. The question is: will the State act, or will the godmen continue to rule the gullible, unchecked? 


(The writer is a senior journalist based in Kolhapur. Views personal.)

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