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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.

The Coldrif Tragedy: When Systems Fail Our Children

Pharmaceutical negligence and a hollowed-out regulatory state have made tragedy routine in India.

Earlier this month, India confronted a familiar nightmare. Children in Chhindwara, Madhya Pradesh, began falling ill after taking a simple cough syrup. Before toxic batches were identified, at least 20 young lives were lost. They were victims not of disease, but of a pharmaceutical industry unchecked by conscience and a regulatory system weakened by neglect.


Tests revealed the culprit to be diethylene glycol (DEG), an industrial solvent present in Coldrif syrup manufactured by Sresan Pharma at 480 times the permissible limit. This was no accident, but a calculated betrayal where profit overrode safety, and which was enabled by a system that allowed it to happen.


The irony is unbearable. Eighty-eight years earlier, in 1937, the United States faced an identical disaster when the S.E. Massengill Company sold Elixir Sulfanilamide laced with DEG. At least 105 people, mostly children, died. The outrage led to the 1938 Federal Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act, forcing companies to prove drug safety before sale and transforming the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) into a true public health guardian. India, by contrast, seems doomed to repeat history rather than learn from it.


Systemic failures

The Coldrif case exposes a web of systemic failures. A syrup containing 48 percent DEG could not result from a labelling slip. Someone knew. Someone mixed industrial solvent into medicine meant for children, gambling that supervision was too weak to catch them.


Yet, accountability has been selective. A local doctor was arrested for prescribing the syrup to children under five, while the manufacturer, the real culprit, initially walked free. The Indian Medical Association rightly called this scapegoating. Under the Drugs and Cosmetics Act (1940) and the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (2023), producing adulterated drugs carries penalties up to life imprisonment. But laws on paper mean little when they gather dust while children die.


Just this month, the World Health Organization told India that “much remains to be done” to halt the sale of toxic cough syrups after at least 24 children died. Investigations at Sresan Pharma’s Tamil Nadu plant revealed more than 350 critical quality-control violations — rusted equipment, untested excipients, and untrained staff. India’s drug regulator, belatedly tightening the rules, has now made DEG and ethylene glycol testing mandatory for both finished syrups and raw materials.


The deeper problem lies in India’s fractured regulatory architecture. The Central Drugs Standard Control Organisation (CDSCO), under the Health Ministry, lacks autonomy and enforcement power. State drug regulators function unevenly, with overlapping authority and varying competence. A system designed in 1940 for a smaller industry now struggles to monitor a pharmaceutical behemoth.


The scale of neglect is staggering. Approximately 3,500 inspectors are reportedly responsible for nearly 10,500 drug manufacturers — barely one inspection per facility every few years. Many units haven’t upgraded to revised Good Manufacturing Practices (GMP) despite repeated extensions.


Such episodes are no longer local misfortunes but international reputational hazards. When Indian-made medicines kill children abroad, the spill-over is moral, commercial and diplomatic. Regulators who claim that the tainted batches were not exported may find this comforting, but the very existence of informal export channels means the risk is latent and transnational. In a globalised pharmaceuticals market, supply-chain negligence in Nagpur or Kancheepuram can turn into a crisis in Yaoundé or Bangkok with almost no detection in between.


Broader pattern

India’s tragedy mirrors a broader pattern of pharmaceutical lapses thriving in weak regulatory environments. In Panama (2006–2007), DEG-contaminated cough syrup killed at least 78 people according to official counts, though some estimates suggest over 100 deaths. In 2019–2020, similar contamination killed children in Jammu. Since 2022, Indian-made syrups have caused child deaths in The Gambia, Uzbekistan, and Cameroon, prompting WHO alerts. In every case, industrial solvents replaced pharmaceutical-grade glycerin because DEG is cheaper.


The Panama case showed how negligence spans continents. Chinese suppliers mislabelled chemicals, Spanish traders rebranded them and officials failed to verify imports.


Earlier this month, the WHO issued yet another global alert over three Indian-manufactured syrups deemed “toxic to children,” warning that illicit exports cannot be ruled out. The repetition is chilling. Each new scandal underscores that the problem is not an aberration but a recurring structural malaise.


Here lies the cruel contradiction. India is hailed as the ‘pharmacy of the world,’ supplying affordable medicines and vaccines to 150 countries. Yet Indian-made drugs have often caused preventable deaths both at home and abroad.


Even when penalties reach millions of dollars globally, large companies treat them as a cost of doing business. Smaller manufacturers thrive under weak oversight, viewing compliance as optional. Far more than damaging commerce, each contaminated export erodes trust. When Indian syrups kill children overseas, it tarnishes not just the brand, but the nation’s moral standing.


The post-1938 American blueprint, where safety became a pre-condition for sale rather than a punitive afterthought, remains precisely what India has yet to internalise. The European Medicines Agency and Japan’s PMDA offer models of regulatory independence and transparency that New Delhi’s fragmented system sorely lacks.


Demanding accountability

True justice in the Coldrif case demands three layers of accountability:

First, criminal liability must be enforced. Executives at Sresan Pharma should face prosecution for negligence causing death, not merely regulatory violations. Suspension of licenses is cosmetic; imprisonment is deterrent.


Second, civil and financial penalties must sting. Compensation should be swift and substantial, not buried in litigation. The Panama case led to a compensation fund — modest but meaningful. India must follow suit.


Third, regulatory accountability is essential. Inspectors and officials who failed to detect the contamination must face inquiry. Were inspections skipped, or palms greased? Without systemic accountability, history will replay.


Systemic reform

Punishment alone won’t suffice; reform must follow. India needs a unified yet decentralised regulatory system where the CDSCO operates as an independent, statutory apex body coordinating with empowered state arms.


Quality Management Systems (QMS), already adopted by 85 percent of pharma firms, must become legally mandatory, with surprise audits. The Indian Pharmacopoeia Commission should conduct unannounced market testing, and special fast-track courts should try pharmaceutical crimes with technical expertise and speed.


Reform must begin before tragedy strikes. India should adopt GMP as binding law, not aspiration. DEG must be classified as a restricted chemical, its usage strictly tracked. Every batch of syrup should undergo independent pre-distribution testing.


Technology can help: digital labelling can prevent misbranding; real-time alerts can flag irregular procurement patterns.


The next step must go further: establishing a national drug-safety registry linking manufacturers, suppliers, and testing labs in real time. Such a platform, modelled on the FDA’s Sentinel Initiative, could spot anomalies before they kill. India’s ambition to be the world’s medicine cabinet must rest on credibility, not cheapness.


The Health Ministry now stands at a crossroads. It can issue another inquiry and wait for outrage to fade, or it can rebuild the system from the ground up. Reform must include statutory independence for regulators, higher inspection budgets, fast prosecution of offenders, and fair victim compensation. Coordinated international monitoring must prevent tainted exports that stain India’s global credibility.


The symmetry with the 1937 incident in FDR’s America is haunting: what spurred reform in Roosevelt’s America remains an open wound in Modi’s India. Until accountability becomes instinct rather than reaction, the next tragedy is only a shipment away.


The government will have to do more, much more, than offer token condolences to the parents of Chhindwara’s victims. They deserve swift justice, sweeping reforms and an assurance that no child will die again because medicine turned into poison.


India must finally prove it has learned what the world learned nearly a century ago: that the price of safety is eternal vigilance, not recurring tragedy.


(The writer is a Bengaluru-based freelancer. Views personal.)

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