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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.

Jharkhand at 25: Forged in Fire, Renewed by Resolve

If you drive through Jharkhand today, past its bustling mineral towns and tribal heartlands, you will see a land reborn. Yet, behind the rhythm of progress lies a history of defiance and dreams, fierce oppositions and hard-earned victories. As Jharkhand celebrates its 25th anniversary, this is not just a milestone. It is proof that India's youngest state is no longer a byword for backwardness but a case study in resilience. It is also a reminder of how regional identities, long overshadowed by larger provinces, eventually pushed their way into the administrative map, much like the Santhal Pargana uprising of the 19th century – an episode that showed how cultural neglect can ferment into political resolve.


Carved out of Bihar on 15 November 2000 after decades of agitation, the creation of Jharkhand was anything but simple. Jharkhand's movement was not a sudden phenomenon. It was the culmination of decades of yearning among the region's hills, mines, and indigenous communities. In 1986, the All-Jharkhand Students Union (AISU) was born in Jhargram, West Bengal, embodying collective leadership and the spirit of public resistance. The assassination of Nirmal Mahato in 1987 intensified the agitation. The slogan that rent the air went thus: “We will get Jharkhand, we will get it by fighting.” This phase resembled the upheaval seen during the Telangana agitations of the late 1960s, when student-led protests reshaped political calculations and transformed localised discontent into a national issue.

 

Legacy of revolts

For many in the region, this moment revived the forgotten legacy of earlier tribal revolts like the Kol rebellion of 1831–32, the Hul movement of 1855–56 led by Sidhu and Kanhu Murmu. Each of these was an assertion of land, identity and autonomy in the face of state indifference. The Shaheed Sthal of Kharsawan stands as a witness to the passionate promises made by youth; some even burned their academic certificates, vowing not to marry, work, or vote until their demand for statehood was met. The struggle was more than political; it was a cry for existence. The Jharkhand Mukti Morcha (JMM) played a crucial role in Jharkhand’s statehood movement. Founded by Shibu Soren, Binod Bihari Mahto, and A.K. Roy, the party was officially established on the birthday of Birsa Munda, the 19th-century tribal freedom fighter from Jharkhand. The invocation of Birsa Munda mirrored how regional movements elsewhere, such as in Tamil Nadu with Periyar or in Assam with cultural icons like Srimanta Sankardev, rooted political demands in long-standing cultural and historical memory.


Ram Dayal Munda revitalized the movement by uniting various tribal factions. In June 1987, under his leadership, the Jharkhand Coordination Committee (JCC) was formed, bringing together 48 organizations, including multiple JMM factions. For a time, leaders such as Shibu Soren, Suraj Mandal, Simon Marandi, and AJSU representatives shared a common platform through the JCC. However, the JMM later parted ways, feeling that the collective leadership was ineffective. During 1988 and 1989, the JMM, AJSU, and Jharkhand People’s Party (JPP) orchestrated successful bandhs and economic blockades to press their demand for Jharkhand’s statehood.


Governments took turns attempting to crush the movement. Under Lalu Prasad and Rabri Devi's rule, protestors were branded as extremists. Streets bore witness to bloodshed, but the demand was fundamentally constitutional in the 1990s, when leaders like Lalu Prasad declared, “Jharkhand will be created over my dead body,” the courts ultimately affirmed the legitimacy and popular basis of Jharkhand's demand. Judicial validation echoed earlier precedents such as the Supreme Court’s acknowledgment of popular will during the Bombay–Gujarat linguistic division in 1960, reinforcing that state formation was as much a democratic process as a political one.


Statehood was not merely a political act, it was the realization of public aspiration. While the BJP credits Atal Bihari Vajpayee's initiative for this achievement, the crucial role played by Lal Krishna Advani cannot be overlooked. He gave meaning to the name ‘Jharkhand,’ replacing the earlier term ‘Vananchal AISU’s support for the BJP in 1999 led to a collective acceptance of the state’s identity and existence. Finally, on November 15, 2000, Jharkhand emerged on India’s political landscape. The moment was part of a broader federal rebalancing in the late 1990s and early 2000s, when India, unlike many centralised postcolonial states, chose to accommodate regional aspirations through constitutional restructuring rather than coercion.


Stumbling blocks

For years, progress stumbled. Jharkhand became synonymous with political instability-eight chief ministers, twelve governments, and repeated reversals. The land, rich with coal and iron ore, remained paradoxically poor. Naxal violence gnawed at its social fabric and the headlines reported unrest, poverty and missed potential with unfailing regularity. Here, one can even draw global parallels with Jharkhand to resource-rich but governance-poor regions across the world - from Congo’s Katanga to Bolivia’s tin belt - where mineral abundance proved as much a curse as a blessing.


A shift began with the arrival of stable governance post 2014. For the first time, politics in Ranchi looked forward, not backward. With leaders able to plan for more than a few chaotic months, the state acquired the space to address structural issues land rights, rural education, indigenous welfare National schemes began to reach Jharkhand in full force new highways, electrification, healthcare, and the celebrated Ayushman Bharat insurance transformed rural lives.


Prime Minister Modi's government made Jharkhand a keystone in its "tribal pride" agenda, commemorating the legendary Birsa Munda and earmarking over 12.5 lakh crore for development projects. The railway budget grew sixteen-fold, and modern trains like Vande Bharat began running. These were not simply budgetary numbers. The construction of highways, modern railway corridors and coal power plants created jobs and stitched Jharkhand closer to the national fabric. Youth, once resigned to migration, now found self-employment loans under the Mudra scheme and opportunities in new industrial zones.


The numbers reflect this silent revolution. Jharkhand’s Gross State Domestic Product (GSDP) is projected to grow by over 9 percent this year, per capita incomes have tripled since 2002 And yet, beyond statistics lies an even greater transformation, the restoring of dignity and hope. That is what stands out as you speak to young entrepreneurs in Dhanbad, Adivasi leaders in Simdega, or teachers in Gumia. In their view, Jharkhand's future is optimistic, not fatalistic.


Has the journey been easy? Not at all Jharkhand still battles corruption, social inequality, and the shadow of old divides. Mining riches have yet to translate into universal prosperity. Tribal voices demand more than symbolic recognition; they want genuine empowerment. Opposition persists from cynical corners who see every new road or scheme as proof of creeping centralization or loss of local culture.


These tensions mirror debates in other resource-rich states like Odisha or Madhya Pradesh where the balance between extraction, environment, and indigenous rights remains continually contested.


Yet, these debates are the hallmark of a maturing democracy. Jharkhand's story is less about perfect success, more about pragmatic progress. Every tally of new school enrolments and lowered poverty rates should also remind us that development is messy, a blend of victories and setbacks, vision and compromise.

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