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By:

Vappala Balachandran

19 September 2024 at 11:21:31 am

Where the Krushna Flows

Mohan Deshmukh’s book From the Banks of Krushna River, originally published in Marathi as Krushnakathavarun, reminds me of my stay in Sangli district (1965-1969), which was one of the most memorable periods in my long government service. His book is a delightful account of Sangli’s rich cultural and artistic heritage. It also tells the story of how a village boy from the district - the son of an honest and upright junior police officer - rose to become a leading builder and later president...

Where the Krushna Flows

Mohan Deshmukh’s book From the Banks of Krushna River, originally published in Marathi as Krushnakathavarun, reminds me of my stay in Sangli district (1965-1969), which was one of the most memorable periods in my long government service. His book is a delightful account of Sangli’s rich cultural and artistic heritage. It also tells the story of how a village boy from the district - the son of an honest and upright junior police officer - rose to become a leading builder and later president of the Maharashtra Chamber of Housing Industry (MCHI), where he sought to bring order to Maharashtra’s often chaotic real-estate sector. More remarkably, it recounts how he walked away from a flourishing business in 2013 in search of inner peace through Vipassana. Although I joined the Maharashtra cadre in 1960, my earlier postings gave me little opportunity to immerse myself in Marathi culture and literature. It was only in Sangli that I came to appreciate, in any depth, the district’s rich traditions of poetry and theatre. In that sense, I was fortunate. Soon after I assumed charge as Superintendent of Police, Sangli, the government acquired a tract of land that had once belonged to the legendary Marathi playwright Govind Ballal Deval (1855–1916). It was chosen as the site for a new police headquarters, complete with a vast parade ground and 300 constabulary quarters, the construction of which became one of my principal responsibilities. Deval wrote at least seven Marathi plays, among them the celebrated Samshay Kallol, broadly inspired by Molière's Sganarelle, or The Imaginary Cuckold. By a happy coincidence, I had watched Samshay Kallol during my district training in Solapur in 1960, long before fate brought me to the land once owned by its author. By 1969 I was able to construct a well-equipped police recreation auditorium and get government approval to name it after the late Deval. The naming ceremony was done by the well-known Marathi writer, the late Padma Bhushan Vishnu Sakharam Khandekar, who later won the Jnanpith award in 1974 for his novel ‘Yayati.’ Sangli was aptly known as Natya Pandhari (“the pilgrimage of Marathi theatre.”) It was here that Vishnudas Bhave, the pioneer of the Marathi stage, premiered Sita Swayamvar, the first Marathi play, in 1843. In my time, nearly every major new Marathi play opened in Sangli. Equally memorable was hearing artistes such as Hirabai Barodkar of nearby Miraj and the poet-lyricist G.D. Madgulkar (Ga Di Mā) of Atpadi, whose Geet Ramayan, beautifully rendered by Sudhir Phadke, became a cherished Sunday ritual on All India Radio. Mohan Deshmukh’s mention of Krushna river, the lifeline of Sangli, its basin and confluence with Warana river also reminds me of my experience of the discordance in Sangli district’s political life. He quotes Ga Di Mā’s wistful poem which had narrated Krushna’s beauty together with its hidden contradictions and sorrows: “Sant vahate Krishnamai, tiravarlya sukhadukhanchi, janiv tijhala nahi” (author’s translation: “Calmly flows Mother Krushna, untouched by the joys and sorrows on her shores”). That was my experience too. Sangli introduced me to some of Maharashtra's political giants—Yashwantrao Chavan, Vasant (Dada) Patil and Rajaram Bapu Patil. Despite my being an outsider, they treated a young police officer with warmth and trust. The pleasantries, however, were brief. Soon after taking charge in 1965, I found myself confronting a violent anti-famine agitation led by the Shetkari Kamgari Paksh in Tasgaon. For days, protesters clashed with the police as they tried to march on the taluka office. During one confrontation, a young demonstrator struck me on the head with a lathi, blaming me for the violence. It was an early glimpse of the defiant spirit that the author captures so well. Sangli, he writes, has long been a land of self-respect and resistance, from its defiance of Mughal rule to the freedom struggle, when "Krantisingh" Nana Patil established the Prati Sarkar, alongside revolutionaries such as Kisan Veer and G.D. Bapu Lad. The book traces the author’s childhood in Tasgaon, Budhgaon and neighbouring villages, his struggle for education, and the timely support he received from the Police Welfare Fund. Running through it is his father’s simple creed: remain honest, however poor, and rise only by lawful means. (The writer is a former Special Secretary, Cabinet Secretariat and member of the two-man high level committee appointed by Govt.of Maharashtra to enquire into the systemic errors during 26/11 Mumbai terror attacks. His latest book, ‘India and China at Odds in Asian Century,’ was published by Hurst London and by Pentagon Press, New Delhi)

Scholarships that go nowhere

Maharashtra’s bureaucratic drift is turning a flagship foreign-study scheme into a machine for wasting talent.

For a government that talks grandly of global exposure and human capital, the foreign merit scholarship scheme run by the Higher and Technical Education Department has acquired an unfortunate reputation. It raises hopes early, dashes them late and teaches students a brutal lesson in administrative indifference.


The scheme’s purpose is admirable. It is meant to help meritorious students from economically weak backgrounds pursue higher education abroad, acquiring skills and experience that India itself struggles to provide at scale. In theory, it is an investment in social mobility and national capability. Yet, in practice, it has become an annual exercise in delay, uncertainty and loss.


Dashed Hopes

Consider the most recent selection cycle. Of the 40 scholarships officially on offer, a final list of only 24 students was published. More striking still, just 82 applications were received from across the entire state. For a programme aimed at one of India’s most aspirational cohorts, those numbers are alarm bells. They suggest not a shortage of talent, but a collapse of confidence. Students are voting with their feet or rather, not applying at all.


Timing makes matters worse. The final list was released as the 2025 academic year was already drawing to a close. Even successful candidates can no longer take up admission abroad in the current cycle. They lose an entire academic year, through no fault of their own. And this is not a one-off aberration. It has become the norm.


Every year, advertisements are issued late. Selection procedures crawl. Senior-level meetings are postponed. Budgetary approvals lag behind the academic calendar they are meant to serve. The consequences are predictable and punishing. Students who should be boarding flights are left waiting for files to move between desks.


The contrast with other departments is telling. Students supported by the Social Welfare Department, the Bahujan Welfare Department and the Sarathi scholarship scheme are already well into their studies abroad. Their selections were completed on time; their funding aligned with university calendars. The difference is not merely financial. It is administrative competence.


The state government has, on paper, adopted a common and comprehensive policy for all foreign scholarship schemes. Yet implementation varies wildly. In the Higher and Technical Education Department’s case, there are no binding timelines, no clearly assigned responsibility, and no penalties for delay. Accountability dissolves into process. The cost is borne entirely by students - academically, financially and psychologically.


Outreach is another weak link. The scheme barely reaches colleges and universities. There is little systematic publicity, no regular guidance camps, and scant counselling for prospective applicants navigating the complexities of foreign admissions. Unsurprisingly, awareness is low and misinformation high. Over time, word spreads that the process is unreliable. Applications dry up. Trust evaporates.


Sclerotic Administration

The numbers tell a quiet story of decline. When the scheme was launched in 2018–19, ten students were sent abroad each year. That figure has since been raised to 40 - on paper at least. In reality, the number of beneficiaries has stagnated. Capacity has expanded without the administrative spine needed to support it.


The paradox is painful. Crores of rupees lie allocated, yet eligible students remain grounded because files move too slowly. An entire academic year can be lost to procedural inertia. This is not just a personal setback for a student; it is a collective failure to convert public money into public good.


What makes the situation more troubling is the absence of urgency. There is little evidence that the administration treats these delays as a crisis. Without fixed deadlines or consequences, postponement becomes routine. The scheme drifts, year after year, from one missed intake to the next.


A foreign scholarship should be a launchpad. Instead, this one has become a holding pen. Unless timeliness, transparency and accountability are built into its operation, it will continue to do the opposite of what it promises: denying opportunity rather than creating it. For a state that aspires to put its students on the global stage, that is an oddly self-defeating choice.


(The writer is a lawyer and president, Student Helping Hands. Views personal.)

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