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By:

Commodore S.L. Deshmukh

31 October 2024 at 3:00:19 am

The School That Changed India

In the closing decades of the 19th century, education in India was less a public good than a colonial instrument. The British administration had little interest in creating a broadly educated society. Inspired by the logic of the 1854 Wood’s Dispatch, it sought instead to cultivate a narrow English-speaking elite capable of staffing the lower rungs of the imperial bureaucracy. Schools and colleges produced clerks, not citizens. For the overwhelming majority of Indians, education remained an...

The School That Changed India

In the closing decades of the 19th century, education in India was less a public good than a colonial instrument. The British administration had little interest in creating a broadly educated society. Inspired by the logic of the 1854 Wood’s Dispatch, it sought instead to cultivate a narrow English-speaking elite capable of staffing the lower rungs of the imperial bureaucracy. Schools and colleges produced clerks, not citizens. For the overwhelming majority of Indians, education remained an unattainable privilege rather than a pathway to opportunity. Stifled Aspirations If men faced exclusion, women confronted near-total invisibility. The 1891 Census recorded female literacy at a microscopic 0.42 percent, compared with 8.44 percent for men. Formal education was largely confined to daughters of affluent, progressive urban households. For rural women and those from disadvantaged communities, schooling scarcely existed. Child marriage, rigid patriarchal customs and the confinement of women to domestic life combined to ensure that literacy remained a distant aspiration. Yet, history changes because individuals decide that prevailing assumptions deserve to be challenged. The latter half of the 19th century witnessed the emergence of Indian social reformers who questioned inherited orthodoxy. Figures such as Raja Ram Mohan Roy began attacking customs that denied women dignity and opportunity. Their campaigns met fierce resistance from conservative opinion while operating within the constraints of colonial rule. Nevertheless, they planted the intellectual foundations for one of modern India's most profound social transformations. Among those who carried that movement to its logical conclusion was Maharshi Dhondo Keshav Karve. Born in 1858 in Sheravali village in Maharashtra’s Ratnagiri district, Karve’s early life offered little indication that he would become one of India’s greatest educational reformers. Raised in modest circumstances, he pursued learning with remarkable determination, graduating in mathematics from Mumbai’s Elphinstone College before teaching at Pune’s Fergusson College. It was there that he confronted the grim realities facing widows and women denied even the most basic educational opportunities. At a time when widow remarriage invited social ostracism and women’s education was dismissed as dangerous, Karve devoted himself to both causes. His conviction rested on the deceptively simple proposition that a nation could not hope to progress while excluding half its population from education. Women’s education was no charity but an investment in national development. That belief acquired institutional form in 1896 with the establishment of the Maharshi Karve Stree Shikshan Samstha in Hingne in Pune’s Karve Nagar. Its beginnings could scarcely have been humbler. The institution functioned from a tiny hut, admitting just four girls, many of them child widows whom society had effectively abandoned. Resources were scarce, public support limited and opposition intense. Yet Karve understood that enduring reform begins not with grand declarations but with functioning institutions. Radical Experiment The experiment steadily expanded. A women's school followed in 1907, where Karve’s own widowed sister-in-law, Parvatibai Athavale, became its first student - a deeply personal affirmation of his ideals. His greatest achievement arrived in 1916 with the founding of SNDT Women’s University, India’s first university dedicated exclusively to women. Long before phrases such as “women's empowerment” entered official vocabulary, Karve had already translated the concept into educational practice. Today, the Maharshi Karve Stree Shikshan Samstha educates more than 32,000 girls through dozens of institutions across Maharashtra, serving students from disadvantaged communities, tribal populations and economically weaker families. What began with four pupils in a hut has become one of India’s largest networks devoted exclusively to women's education. Its expansion tells a larger story about India itself. Educational reform succeeds not merely because governments legislate it, but because visionary individuals create institutions that outlive them. Karve’s legacy survived changing political regimes, economic upheavals and shifting social attitudes precisely because it rested on durable foundations rather than passing slogans. That legacy is preserved in the Maharshi Karve Museum in Pune, established on his 150th birth anniversary. The museum displays his personal belongings and chronicles a life defined not by dramatic gestures but by extraordinary perseverance. Visitors encounter more than the biography of a reformer; they encounter the origins of an educational revolution that quietly reshaped Indian society. India today debates artificial intelligence and global university rankings. These conversations risk obscuring a more fundamental truth. The country’s educational transformation began not with technology or policy frameworks, but with a moral conviction that every individual deserves the opportunity to learn. And Karve recognised that principle long before it became fashionable. (The author is a retired naval aviation officer and a defence and geopolitical analyst. Views personal.)

Dangerous Departures

Updated: Oct 30, 2024

Dangerous Departures

In yet another shocking incident adding to Mumbai’s infamous tryst with stampedes, chaos erupted at Mumbai’s Bandra Terminus following a weekend stampede that left at least ten persons injured, two critically so. A crowd surged toward the Gorakhpur-bound train with nearly 1,500 people vying for seats in 22 unreserved compartments, leading to the stampede. Several others narrowly avoided tragedy, with some even pushed onto the tracks. This is not a unique episode but rather a recurring theme in Mumbai’s bedevilled crowd management, one that has haunted the city’s public spaces, particularly as festive seasons magnify the crowds.


Mumbai is no stranger to stampedes. A horrifying incident in 2017 at Elphinstone Road Station left 23 people dead and nearly 50 injured. The cause was a familiar one: an overwhelming crowd confined to a narrow footbridge during peak rush hour. The tragedy sparked an outcry, with promises from authorities to upgrade infrastructure and enhance safety protocols. Yet seven years on, crowd-related incidents continue to be a constant danger. Today’s incident reveals a similar lapse—a lack of foresight in managing the thousands who gather on platforms ahead of Diwali, eager to return to family. That the Gorakhpur Express was unreserved and heavily crowded was predictable.


The issue lies beyond simply crowd density; it is emblematic of deeper systemic negligence. The Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC), responsible for local public safety, along with the Railways Ministry, bear responsibility for ensuring order at such high-risk hubs. Although the BMC acknowledged the “festive rush,” it appears little was done to pre-empt it. Swift action could have been taken to either disperse the crowd or reroute passengers. Instead, chaos prevailed.


Political reaction has been swift but uninspiring. Aaditya Thackeray, son of Uddhav Thackeray, launched a scathing attack on the Union Railways Minister, Ashwini Vaishnaw, branding the incident a result of the minister’s “incapable” leadership. This hardly addresses the immediate need: a substantive plan to manage crowds and prevent similar incidents.


Mumbai’s transport infrastructure remains sorely outdated. Platforms are undersized, signalling systems frequently falter, and crowd control mechanisms are grossly inadequate. Despite repeated accidents, there has been little investment in comprehensive crowd management systems or the deployment of personnel trained in emergency response. While railway footbridges were widened after the Elphinstone tragedy, Bandra’s incident demonstrates that such incremental changes are insufficient. Mumbai, which sees a swelling populace during festivals, demands a robust strategy to address its vulnerabilities. This should include technology-driven crowd monitoring, clear communication channels to inform passengers of platform conditions, and additional security and medical staff on high-demand days. It is essential that crowd management training for personnel becomes a priority rather than a reaction to tragedies.

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