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By:

Commodore S.L. Deshmukh

31 October 2024 at 3:00:19 am

The Revolution That Never Stopped

In 1896, when Dhondo Keshav Karve founded the Maharshi Karve Stree Shikshan Samstha (MKSSS) in Pune, the idea of educating women was not merely unconventional but an act of social rebellion. Karve’s radical yet simple conviction was by educating a woman, you altered not merely an individual life but the destiny of generations. More than 125 years later, that conviction has expanded. Social Mobility Today, MKSSS encompasses more than 65 institutions, ranging from schools and engineering...

The Revolution That Never Stopped

In 1896, when Dhondo Keshav Karve founded the Maharshi Karve Stree Shikshan Samstha (MKSSS) in Pune, the idea of educating women was not merely unconventional but an act of social rebellion. Karve’s radical yet simple conviction was by educating a woman, you altered not merely an individual life but the destiny of generations. More than 125 years later, that conviction has expanded. Social Mobility Today, MKSSS encompasses more than 65 institutions, ranging from schools and engineering colleges to vocational training centres, nursing institutes, hostels for working women and teacher-training academies. Yet its significance lies not in the scale of its infrastructure but in the philosophy that binds it together. It views education not as a degree to be acquired but as an instrument of economic independence, dignity and social mobility. The organisation understood long before policymakers did that educational inequality begins early. Its network of pre-primary, primary and higher secondary schools spread across Pune, Satara and Wai, focuses particularly on girls from rural backgrounds, while its English-medium schools seek to equip students with the confidence and skills demanded by an increasingly competitive world. Education here is conceived not merely as classroom instruction but as character formation. Its commitment extends even to communities that often remain invisible in discussions of educational reform. The tribal Ashram School at Kamshet provides quality education to tribal boys and girls, with enrolment steadily rising over the years. In regions where educational access has historically been patchy, such institutions often represent the only bridge between marginalisation and opportunity. MKSSS has deliberately diversified beyond conventional disciplines. It operates institutions specialising in architecture, management, fashion technology, nursing, computer applications, arts and sciences. Its greatest milestone came in 1991 with the establishment of Cummins College of Engineering for Women - the first all-women engineering college in India - created with support from the Cummins Diesel India Foundation. At a time when engineering classrooms were overwhelmingly male, the college quietly demonstrated that talent required opportunity, not permission. That philosophy has become even more relevant in an economy increasingly shaped by technology and specialised skills. Perhaps nowhere is this more evident than at the Manilal Nanavati Vocational Training Institute (MNVTI), established in 1995. Long before “skill development” became fashionable government vocabulary, MNVTI recognised that employability depended on practical competence as much as academic qualifications. The institute offers industry-oriented programmes spanning computer technology, interior design, fashion design, cosmetology, hospitality and culinary arts, alongside online courses that extend its reach into remote areas. Students benefit from workshops, industrial visits, entrepreneurship projects and placement assistance, ensuring that education translates into livelihoods rather than certificates gathering dust. Safe hostel accommodation enables young women from distant regions to pursue education without compromising security, a factor often overlooked in discussions about female participation in higher education. Statistics alone, however, rarely capture institutional impact. Consider the story of Pavitra Gowda. Married immediately after completing Class 10, she returned to her parental home with a young daughter after enduring domestic abuse. With little education and mounting financial pressures, domestic work became her only source of income. Recognising both her predicament and her potential, MNVTI waived its qualification requirements and admitted her to a one-year cosmetology course. Today she owns three salons in Pune. Her transformation illustrates what genuine empowerment looks like. MKSSS complements these efforts with teacher-training institutes, a skill development centre, a women’s studies centre and even an old-age home, reflecting an understanding that social reform cannot be confined to classrooms alone. It requires ecosystems that nurture women at every stage of life. Yet institutions of this kind face an enduring paradox. Their social value is immense, but their financial resources are often fragile. Government assistance covers only part of the costs. Much of their work continues because individuals and philanthropists believe that investing in education yields the highest social returns imaginable. India often celebrates unicorns and startup founders as symbols of national progress. But the country’s real transformation has always depended on quieter revolutions taking place inside classrooms where girls acquire confidence, skills and independence. Maharshi Karve planted the seed of one such revolution in 1896. More than a century later, MKSSS continues to demonstrate that the finest monument to a visionary is not a statue or a memorial, but an institution that continues changing lives long after its founder has gone. (The writer is a retired naval aviation officer and a defence and geopolitical analyst. Views personal.)

Selective Outrage

India’s left-liberal media has long prided itself on being the torchbearer of secularism, dissent and moral rectitude. In the aftermath of ‘Operation Sindoor,’ the precision military strike launched by the Modi government against Pakistan-based terror camps, it has revealed its not a principled commitment to peace or truth, but a disturbing penchant for ideological prejudice, performative sanctimony and selective outrage.


The operation itself was a textbook display of calibrated force and geopolitical prudence. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, often caricatured as ‘authoritarian’ by the ‘liberal’ English-language commentariat, chose patience over provocation. He consulted opposition leaders, held detailed discussions with defence chiefs and took key international stakeholders, notably the United States and Russia, into confidence before authorising limited military action. The symbolism of ‘Operation Sindoor’ was also carefully crafted: a pointed reminder that the attack’s real victims were Hindu women widowed by Pakistan-sponsored militants in Kashmir. The government’s briefings were also strategic and symbolic as two ranking female officers, one of them Muslim, were made the public face of the mission, underlining a new Indian confidence that blends military muscle with democratic pluralism.


But this was unacceptable for India’s entrenched ‘left-liberal’ press, steeped in academic jargon, Western validation and a knee-jerk hostility to anything remotely ‘Hindutva.’ That a Muslim officer briefed the nation on ‘Operation Sindoor’ was branded ‘tokenism’ by such commentators. Others crudely alleged that the April 22 Pahalgam massacre was the logical culmination of reported atrocities against Muslims since Modi came to power in 2014.


The semantic nitpicking over ‘Operation Sindoor’ was maddening. An editor of a prominent magazine dubbed the operation’s name as ‘patriarchal’ and coded in Hindutva tropes. In a bizarre case of moral inversion, sindoor was likened to symbols of ‘honour killings’ and gender oppression, ignoring both its cultural resonance and the cruel reality that these women had lost their husbands in cold blood. For years, India’s ‘secular’ commentariat nurtured a preordained binary: the Congress may be flawed but was at least ‘secular’ while the BJP was an inveterate ‘fascist.’ Thus, the 2002 Gujarat riots are always focused upon but the Congress-backed pogrom of the Sikhs in 1984 is either downplayed or rationalised. Terrorism in Kashmir is tragic, but state retaliation is ‘jingoism.’ A strong Muslim voice in government is ‘tokenism’ but its absence is ‘exclusion.’ Even journalistic rigour is selectively applied. When Pakistan claimed to have downed Indian jets, some Indian outlets rushed to amplify the story before verification, inadvertently echoing enemy propaganda.


Dissent is vital in any democracy. But when its becomes indistinguishable from disdain, when editorial choices are dictated by ideological conformity, then the press becomes a caricature of itself. Ironically, many of these journalists enjoy robust free speech and loudly lament India’s supposed slide into ‘fascism’ from the safety of their X handles. Yet they turn a blind eye to Putin’s repression, Erdogan’s purges or Xi Jinping’s camps. In their eyes, Modi remains the greatest threat to democracy even as they broadcast their outrage freely, without fear of censorship or reprisal. ‘Operation Sindoor’ was a statement of cultural self-confidence. That confidence has rattled those who have spent their careers gatekeeping Indian discourse. Today, their monopoly is over. The people are watching and they no longer believe that the emperor has clothes.

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