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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.

Theatre of Succession: Inside the RJD’s Most Turbulent Season Yet

The great Yadav household melodrama, replete with scandal and sibling rivalry, is prompting questions as to whether the discord is a genuine rupture or a political smokescreen

Patna: India’s politics has long been sustained by families that look more like hereditary courts than democratic organisations. Across the Republic, parties have been shaped by clans that dispense power, manage patronage networks and fight internecine battles with all the fervour of medieval royalty. The quarrels within such houses often prompted by ambition, insecurity or electoral misfortune have famously spilled into public view in the past. But just as often, they are choreographed for effect as well. In either case, the spectacle tends to distract from the deeper rot which is the inability of political institutions to outgrow familial control.


Bihar, long accustomed to political drama, now finds itself riveted by a fresh episode from the Rashtriya Janata Dal (RJD). The party, once hailed for advancing social justice, increasingly resembles a dynasty struggling to preserve its influence against a well-organised opposition and its own internal frictions. The latest unrest has erupted within the household of its founder, Lalu Prasad Yadav, a man whose political cunning is matched only by his flair for theatre. The resulting rumble has prompted one persistent question: is the Yadav family truly breaking apart, or is the disorder merely an artfully crafted political smokescreen?


Mirage of Discord

Political watchers have long repeated a maxim: what is visible is rarely the truth, and what is truthful is seldom visible. These words sit neatly atop the present disarray within the RJD. What began as a controlled consolidation of leadership around Tejashwi Yadav, Lalu’s anointed heir, now seems to have spiralled. The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), the Janata Dal (United) and other allies within the National Democratic Alliance (NDA) have wasted no time in exploiting the faultlines, eager to depict the RJD as a family business collapsing under its own contradictions.


This time, the spark was electoral humiliation. The RJD contested the Bihar Assembly polls entirely under Tejashwi’s command. The campaign was energetic, but voters rendered a damning verdict. The party managed only 25 seats; the entire opposition Grand Alliance could garner a meagre 35 seats. Tejashwi’s messaging on unemployment and inflation fell flat, while the NDA milked old corruption scandals and fresh investigations to keep him on the defensive. As the dust settled, Tejashwi’s competence, credibility and claim to leadership were all questioned privately within the RJD, and loudly outside it.


Unable to fix blame on any identifiable strategist, the family responded with a counter- narrative of internal division, which was floated conveniently after the electoral rout. The discord, or the appearance of it, seemed designed to prevent Tejashwi from becoming the sole repository of blame. Yet, the gambit may have backfired. What began as a diversion now threatens to consume the party’s already depleted cohesion.


Ominous Signs

The first signs of rupture emerged when Lalu’s second daughter, Rohini Acharya, lambasted two of Tejashwi’s chief advisers - Sanjay Yadav and Rameez - for ruining the party’s electoral prospects. Her abrupt departure from Patna triggered a media storm. Rohini, a Singapore-based doctor, is not usually immersed in day-to-day politics; she visits only during significant festivals or election campaigns. Her exit, therefore, was interpreted less as familial irritation and more as political symbolism.


Her siblings soon followed. Chanda returned to her home, where she lives with her husband, a pilot with Indian Airlines. Ragini went back to her business and political engagements. Rajlaxmi, married into the Samajwadi Party’s influential Mulayam Singh Yadav clan, resumed her life in Uttar Pradesh. Their dispersal, largely routine given their professional commitments, was amplified by the press into evidence of implosion. Yet until the election results, the family had projected perfect harmony. Even Tej Pratap Yadav, the mercurial elder son who contested separately, had maintained an unusual restraint. It was only after the loss that tempers rose and recriminations became public.


The RJD now faces a peculiar predicament. Its shrunken tally deprived it of automatic recognition as the official opposition in the Assembly; it must rely on its adversaries -  the BJP and the JD(U) - to grant that status. Tejashwi, weakened within the party, cannot afford another blow to his legitimacy. In such circumstances, the family rift narrative served an expedient purpose: to disperse responsibility, ignite sympathy, and provide breathing space for the heir-apparent. But the danger of strategic melodrama is that it can easily mutate into unmanageable conflict.


The Yadavs are hardly unique in this. Indian politics is littered with dynasties that have aired their domestic quarrels in public, partly to demonstrate ideological passion and partly to reinforce the indispensability of the family itself. Fissures, when used cleverly, can project vigour; fragmentation, when controlled, can signal renewal. But when the act begins to look too polished, even loyalists grow weary.


Parallel Sagas

The saga draws parallels with Maharashtra, where the Shiv Sena has endured multiple ruptures over lineage and philosophy. The split between Bal Thackeray’s son Uddhav and his nephew Raj produced the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS), sending the Thackeray legacy down two divergent political tracks. In 2022, another schism emerged between Uddhav and Eknath Shinde over the party’s alliance choices and its alleged drift from the ‘original’ Hindutva. Shinde’s rebellion, later validated by the Supreme Court, drained Uddhav’s ranks and reshaped the state’s political map.


In Uttar Pradesh, Mulayam Singh Yadav’s Samajwadi Party endured its own fraternal duel. The confrontation between son Akhilesh and uncle Shivpal was as much about control of the party machinery as about ideological direction. In the end, generational ascendancy triumphed, but not without leaving deep scars.


The RJD’s predicament echoes these stories. But its conflict is stripped of any ideological pretence. It is, at its core, a contest for legitimacy and dynastic permanence.


Tej Pratap Factor

Complicating matters further is Tej Pratap Yadav, whose personal life has frequently spilled into the public domain. His marital disputes, televised with relish by news channels, have long embarrassed the RJD. His declaration of a second marriage even before his divorce was finalised injected fresh controversy. His estranged wife, Aishwarya Rai, aired her grievances in the media, intensifying public scrutiny of the family.


The RJD, wary of the reputational fallout, quietly distanced him. Tej Pratap floated his own outfit and contested independently. Some analysts argued that his candidature was, in fact, a calculated attempt to fragment anti-NDA votes. If so, the ploy misfired. Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Chief Minister Nitish Kumar’s welfare-heavy campaign outflanked caste arithmetic, leaving little room for vote-splitting manoeuvres.


Meanwhile, Tejashwi tightened his grip over the party apparatus, marginalising his brother and consolidating authority. The very disorder that once threatened him now served to underscore his position as the sole viable leader of the RJD’s next generation.


The spectacle within the Lalu-Rabri household has become national fodder. Allegations regarding the criminal antecedents of some strategists close to Tejashwi have equipped the BJP and JD(U) with new ammunition. Their leaders eagerly stoke the flames, framing the RJD as a party adrift in chaos and compromised judgement.


Yet, the real deliberations within the Yadav home remain opaque. The public sees only curated fragments in form of leaked tweets, strategic absences and cryptic statements. This makes it open to multiple readings. Is the discord a genuine schism born of electoral defeat, long-simmering grievances and generational rivalry? Or is it an elaborate performance, designed to shield Tejashwi, absorb public anger and ensure the dynasty’s continuity? After all, in the theatre of Indian dynastic politics, the boundary between authenticity and artifice is rarely visible.


For Bihar, and for India, the episode poses a larger question: can political leadership evolve beyond hereditary succession? The persistence of dynasties underscores a troubling deficit in party democratisation. Leadership changes are too often shaped not by organisational processes but by household dynamics.


Whether the Yadav family feud is authentic or manufactured, its implications stretch beyond one household. It reflects a political system that still struggles to separate governance from genealogy. 

 


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