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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.

Kolhapur searches for new municipal HQ

Corporation, which tables a Rs 1,000-crore budget, has wandered for 50 years without owning its building

Kolhapur: When those in power treat public land casually—when governments and administrators shrug off responsibility—the loss inflicted on society is permanent. Public facilities shrink, generations suffer, and land sharks waiting in the shadows walk away laughing. Kolhapur is witnessing exactly such a tragedy today.


For years, a nexus of civic officials, political handlers and land mafia has systematically wiped out public-use spaces belonging to the Kolhapur Municipal Corporation (KMC). But what is unfolding now is even more shameful: the corporation that has completed its Golden Jubilee cannot even protect land meant for its own headquarters.


Recently, KMC quietly shelved its proposal to construct the new corporation building on its prime Rs 40-crore plot at Nirman Chowk, and instead expressed intentions to shift to a five-acre government plot at Shenda Park. But with that Shenda Park land already tied up in a court dispute, the so-called new headquarters appears to be nothing more than a daydream—an announcement designed to fool citizens.


Founded in 1972, the Kolhapur Municipal Corporation has failed for half a century to build its own headquarters on its own land—across a city spread over 66.82 sq km.


Like a scorpion forced to change its burrow repeatedly, the corporation has shifted sites and performed two ground-breaking ceremonies so far:


Nagla Park near Khanwilkar bungalow — first proposed.


Tarabai Park, in land beyond municipal holding limits — a second bhoomipujan 23 years ago.


The result? Due to utter negligence, the land slipped back to original owners. A commercial complex now stands there.


Later, the KMC identified 9 acres 36 gunthas (Survey Nos. 714, 786 / City Survey 255, 256) at Nirman Chowk, previously a garbage dumping site. Architects were invited. Designs were completed. And then? Ten years of paralysis. In the meantime, encroachment mafia moved in, land ownership was challenged in courts and—thanks to government inaction—the prime civic property is slipping away again.


Shenda Park shift

Now, Administrator K. Lakshmi has announced the decision to build the headquarters at Shenda Park. Citizens may celebrate temporarily, but a burning question remains:


Is the relocation for the corporation’s convenience—or for someone else’s profit?


Powerful developers and wealthy investors have their eyes on the Nirman Chowk land. Word on the street suggests deals are already underway. If true, the relocation is not an administrative decision—it’s a sellout.


Kolhapur’s public land has become a banquet table, and mafias have developed a taste for tearing chunks out of it—with blessings from influential power centres.


Kolhapur’s citizens must raise their voices now—before yet another public asset becomes private wealth.


If they do not stop this naked plunder, the coming generations will curse today’s silence.


The question remains: Does anyone have the courage to wake up the Kolhapur Municipal Corporation—before its land and dignity are looted completely?


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