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...

min read

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.)

When Textbooks Make Mistakes

C.S. Krishnamurthy
1 day ago
5 min read

From factual blunders to systemic lapses, the Odisha textbook controversy exposes why accuracy is the first duty of education.

The recent decision of the Odisha government to suspend four senior education officials following the discovery of 1,678 errors in school textbooks has sent tremors well beyond the boundaries of the state. The mistakes were found across 55 newly introduced Odia textbooks for Classes I to VIII, prepared under the National Education Policy 2020 framework for the current academic year. Class VIII textbooks alone reportedly accounted for more than 700 errors, while teachers who began using the books in classrooms were among the first to flag the glaring inaccuracies.

Among the astonishing mistakes were references to Sir Isaac Newton as a pilot, the misidentification of the famous Konark Sun Temple, and the use of images unrelated to Odisha’s cultural context. More disciplinary action followed, committees were constituted, and quality assurance mechanisms were promised. Yet the larger question refuses to disappear.

How does a man who explained gravity end up flying aircraft in a school textbook? How does a monument standing proudly for centuries lose its identity in print? More importantly, how do thousands of mistakes quietly pass through authors, editors, reviewers, printers and administrators before landing on the desks of children? Somewhere, vigilance seems to have taken a day off.

Educational publishing is unlike ordinary publishing. A novel may entertain and a newspaper may inform, but a school textbook claims something far more significant: authority. Every printed sentence carries an implicit assurance that it has been verified with exceptional care. That is precisely why errors in textbooks resonate so deeply.

For generations, textbooks have enjoyed a status approaching scripture in Indian households. Parents may disagree with politicians, television channels and even medical advice found on the internet, but rarely do they challenge a textbook. A statement printed under the emblem of an educational board acquires the authority of carved stone. That trust is not merely desirable. It is indispensable.

In an age overflowing with misinformation, conspiracy theories and AI-generated content, the importance of reliable educational material has only grown. If children cannot rely on their textbooks as dependable sources of knowledge, society loses one of its strongest defences against confusion and falsehood.

The classroom functions on an invisible contract between society and the child. The student agrees to learn; society promises that what is being taught is reasonably accurate. The textbook stands as the written expression of that promise. What happens when that promise is broken?

Cracks in the Foundation

What makes the Odisha episode especially significant is that the errors surfaced in a fresh set of textbooks introduced as part of the state’s implementation of the National Education Policy. Curriculum reforms are intended to improve learning outcomes and modernise education. Yet even the most ambitious reforms lose credibility if basic editorial standards fail. Grand educational visions ultimately rest on the humble disciplines of fact-checking, proofreading and peer review.

Odisha’s plight is not unique. Over the past decade, several states have faced criticism over factual inaccuracies, poor translations and avoidable typographical errors in school textbooks. While most are eventually corrected, the recurring nature of these episodes suggests that the problem is structural rather than accidental.

A state textbook once informed students that badminton champion P.V. Sindhu had won an Olympic bronze medal instead of silver. Another publication confidently announced that she had “wone one bronze and one gold medal in common wealth games”, combining factual and grammatical inaccuracies in a single sentence.

Elsewhere, students learnt that Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated in October 1948 instead of January that year. One geography text reportedly managed to rearrange international boundaries with the confidence of an amateur cartographer.

Such examples may provoke laughter at first glance. Yet academic errors are rather like termites in a wooden structure. They work silently and invisibly until the damage becomes impossible to ignore.

History may tolerate competing interpretations. Facts permit no such flexibility. Newton was not a pilot. The Second World War did not unfold differently because a proof-reader missed a detail. Geography does not change according to printing schedules.

A newspaper error survives for a day. But a textbook error often survives for years in the memory of a child. Educational psychologists have long observed that misconceptions acquired early are remarkably difficult to erase. Correcting a wrong fact often requires far greater effort than learning the right one in the first place, making accuracy at the source especially critical.

Guardians of the Gate

The awkward reality is that textbook failures rarely originate with a single individual. They represent the collapse of an entire ecosystem involving authors, subject experts, editors, language specialists, proof-readers, designers, printers and approving authorities.

Education resembles a relay race. Each participant carries the baton for a short distance before handing it to the next. If one runner stumbles, recovery is possible. If several runners stumble together, the race is lost.

Today, historical dates can be verified in seconds and spell-checking software identifies grammatical errors almost instantly. Artificial intelligence can summarise research papers, translate languages and detect inconsistencies across thousands of pages. Yet school textbooks continue to trip over elementary facts.

Perhaps the problem lies not in technology but in priorities. The pressure to publish revised editions quickly, align books with changing curricula and reduce production costs can sometimes compress editorial timelines. Yet speed is a poor substitute for accuracy when the intended readers are children encountering these subjects for the very first time.

Editorial scrutiny is increasingly viewed as an avoidable expense rather than an intellectual investment. Experienced editors and proof-readers are often treated as ornamental luxuries in publishing budgets. Removing them from the process is rather like removing the lighthouse because ships now have better engines.

The Odisha government’s response deserves attention for one important reason. Accountability has finally entered the conversation. The proposal for a Quality Assurance Cell, a Master Errata Register and a final locked PDF mechanism recognises that educational publishing requires the same rigour expected in aviation, medicine and engineering.

The challenge is to ensure that accountability does not end with suspensions after mistakes are discovered. The real test lies in building institutional systems that prevent such errors from appearing in the first place through rigorous peer review, multiple rounds of proofreading and independent fact-checking.

After all, society would never tolerate an aircraft manual containing thousands of errors. Why should textbooks that shape millions of young minds receive lower standards?

Teachers too can become the first line of defence by promptly reporting inaccuracies. Students should be encouraged to question, verify and think critically rather than memorise unquestioningly. Curiosity is not the enemy of education. It is its lifeblood.

Ultimately, textbooks are far more than compilations of facts. They shape habits of thinking, influence how young citizens understand the world and establish their earliest relationship with evidence and reason.

For education is not merely the transfer of information from one generation to another. It is the passing on of trust. When a child opens a textbook, he opens more than a book. He opens a map to the world he is preparing to enter. If the compass inside that map is defective, the journey itself becomes uncertain.

Remember, the day children begin doubting the textbook, they may slowly begin doubting the very existence of objective truth. And few educational failures can be more serious than teaching a generation that facts themselves are negotiable.

(The writer is a retired banker and author. Views personal.)