The latest round of increases came into effect on September 1. As India Today reported, Mahanagar Gas Limited (MGL) raised CNG prices by ₹2 per kg to ₹88 in Mumbai and surrounding areas, while domestic PNG became ₹1 per standard cubic metre more expensive. The CNG increase is the fourth hike in the current financial year, following two ₹2 increases in May and a ₹1 increase in April. Around 13 lakh CNG vehicle owners and nearly 30 lakh domestic PNG consumers are expected to be affected.

MGL attributed the increase to higher international gas prices amid the continuing crisis in West Asia and the consequent rise in the cost of spot RLNG. However, for households, the reason matters less than the cumulative effect: higher fuel costs feed into transport, deliveries and other everyday expenses.

Public and private transport have both become more expensive. The minimum auto-rickshaw fare in Mumbai has risen from ₹26 to ₹27, while the minimum black-and-yellow taxi fare has increased from ₹31 to ₹33. The per-kilometre auto fare has gone up from ₹17.14 to ₹18.22, and the taxi rate from ₹20.66 to ₹21.90. India Today noted that Mumbai has more than 4.5 lakh autos and over 50,000 taxis, meaning the increase touches a substantial part of the city’s daily commuting population.

Milk has taken another significant hit. The Bombay Milk Producers’ Association raised the wholesale price of tabela milk from ₹93 to ₹102 per litre. NDTV reported that retail prices could reach around ₹110 per litre, depending on the supplier and locality. The association has cited rising production and operating costs, with key cattle-feed ingredients such as green fodder, chuni and oil cakes reportedly becoming up to 25% more expensive over the past year.

This comes soon after another milk price increase across Maharashtra. Hindustan Times reported that cow and buffalo milk prices were raised by ₹2 per litre from August 11. The Milk Producers and Processors Welfare Association attributed the increase to higher diesel, procurement and packaging costs, with packaging expenses alone reported to have risen by around 30%.

The pressure is not restricted to households that buy milk or use autos. Commercial establishments are also facing higher input costs. NDTV Profit reported a ₹9.50 increase in the price of 19-kg commercial LPG cylinders from September 1. The report linked the increase to supply pressures following disruptions to imported cooking gas amid the West Asia conflict.

The escalation in everyday costs has been building for months. In July, the Maharashtra State Road Transport Corporation (MSRTC) raised bus fares by an average 13.5%, with the minimum fare for a six-kilometre journey increasing from ₹13 to ₹15. The Times of India noted that this was the second major fare increase for the state transport undertaking within a year, compared with the 4–5% annual revisions that had been more typical in the past. MSRTC carries around 55–60 lakh passengers every day, making even modest fare increases significant for workers, students and rural commuters.

Food prices have also been moving upwards. Clarion India, reporting from Mumbai on September 2, said residents were already dealing with higher prices of sugar, packaged milk, pulses, rice, eggs and other essentials. One resident cited in the report said sugar prices had risen by ₹20–25 per kilogram within a few weeks, while other routine household purchases had also become more expensive. Families, the report noted, were struggling to balance rent, education and food expenses amid stagnant incomes and employment pressures.

The squeeze is therefore not simply about a ₹1 increase in an auto fare or ₹2 more for CNG. The problem is cumulative. A household pays more to travel to work, more to buy milk, more to cook, and increasingly more for basic groceries. Businesses facing higher fuel, transport and input costs then pass at least some of those expenses on to consumers.

Even the state’s farmers are confronting the same inflationary pressure. A report carried by ThePrint noted that the cost of producing a quintal of cotton in Maharashtra has risen from around ₹3,500 in 2018 to approximately ₹5,000 today. Fertiliser, pesticide, tractor and labour costs have all increased, while the area under cotton cultivation has declined by 2.5 lakh hectares between 2024–25 and the following year.

Taken together, these developments point to a broader problem than isolated price revisions. The cost of maintaining an ordinary household is rising across multiple fronts, while the ability of families to absorb those increases depends on whether their incomes are keeping pace. For many, they are not. That is what makes the latest round of hikes significant. Each increase may appear manageable in isolation. However, when milk, fuel, transport, food and other essentials rise together, the question is no longer what one additional rupee or five additional rupees means. It is how much more a family must spend simply to maintain the same standard of living it had before.

In a city where rent and education already consume a large share of household incomes, the steady rise in the price of necessities is turning the ordinary act of getting through the day into an increasingly expensive proposition.

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The post Mumbai’s everyday life is getting costlier, one essential at a time appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The contemporary economic crisis, dangerously hollowed out middle classes and mounting unemployment (of their children) has brought Indian youth to the brink of becoming Weary Generations (udaas naslein), an expression used by the Urdu novelist, Abdullah Husain (1931-2015), for the generation wasted in Partition, violence, migration and traumatic displacement.

How does one then place or read the energies and fearlessness of the present upsurge be it in Bihar, UP, Delhi or Mumbai? It is not just these seemingly apolitical mobilisations but also smaller left formations (AISA, SFI) that have sustained protests, a) spoken and highlighted education and access for all b) examined structural failures, yes, but also lack of voice and representation c) refused to be black-holed into the Hindu-Muslim paradigm d) broken through a paralysis of fear; e) while in Delhi and Mumbai these may have been dominated by a class difficult for the far right to pigeonhole, in Bihar they are subaltern students. Plus, a protest by Adivasi/tribal students in Maharashtra reached a successful end (though they had been fasting for over 47 days) after Leader of Opposition Rahul Gandhi highlighted their demands. LOP Gandhi speaking of withdrawing criminal cases, getting an FIR lodged, and speaking on youth issues of access and social justice together show how the narrative is for once not being dominated by the regime. The icing on the cake is the union government’s concrete withdrawal of FIRs against many/most if not all the protesters.

Global history demonstrates that youth energy in times of crisis takes one of two distinct paths: violent criminal implosion or revolutionary democratic renewal. In May 1968, France witnessed an explosive student movement that began on university campuses like Nanterre and Sorbonne. French students did not merely demand educational reforms; they linked arms with the working class, paralysed a Gaullist state, and fundamentally reshaped modern European political consciousness through raw democratic assertion. Conversely, where youth energy is denied legitimate political expression and institutional avenues of dissent, it devolves into structural criminality. In 20th-century Sicily (in Italy), the complete absence of democratic avenues for youth advancement permitted underworld gangsterism to swallow an entire generation—a social decay famously captured in Mario Puzo’s literary studies of omertà, patronage, and syndicate power.

Indian campuses today stand precariously at these very crossroads. The current stagnation stands in sharp contrast to the analytical framework established by Philip Altbach in his books, Turmoil and Transition: Higher Education and Student Politics in India (1968) and Student Politics in India (1972). Altbach demonstrated that students in developing democracies operate as a vital “incipient elite” and a primary political conscience. Unencumbered by institutional vested interests, they function as a catalyst for broader societal democratization. This theoretical reality materialised during the 1960s and 1970s across northern and western India. The Navnirman Movement in Gujarat in 1973–1974 began over price hikes in university canteens and escalated into a mass agitation that dissolved the state legislative assembly. Shortly after, the Bihar Movement of 1974, spearheaded by student leaders under Jayaprakash Narayan (1902-1979), directly challenged state authoritarianism and catalysed the nationwide opposition that eventually defeated Congress rule in 1977, after the Emergency (1975-77).

The anti-Congress political forces that seized state power on the back of these youth mobilisations recognized a key reality: an organised, democratically elected student body is an unpredictable, counter-hegemonic force. Consequently, once in power, the anti-Congress and regional regimes (communal reactionaries, single caste, personalized, dynastic and champions of identity-based divisive political forces) systematically disarmed the very machinery that elevated them. Province after province, most notably Uttar Pradesh, campus elections have been suspended across state universities for years, banning, curbing, or neutering Students’ Unions.

Crucially, this structural paralysis of student democracy was not merely a post-2014 phenomenon under the BJP regime; key policy frameworks that enabled this containment were set in motion earlier, notably under UPA-II through the implementation of the Lyngdoh Committee recommendations. As Albeena Shakil highlights in Economic and Political Weekly (2008), the Lyngdoh Committee was constituted following Supreme Court orders to frame guidelines on student union elections—focusing on ‘curbing criminalisation’, ensuring financial transparency, and setting eligibility criteria. However, the committee’s recommendations introduced rigid constraints, such as a maximum age limit of 28 years for research scholars and restricting candidates from contesting office-bearer positions more than once.

The fundamental flaw in this approach was its mechanical, uniform enforcement across vastly different universities without accounting for their specific institutional characters. The Lyngdoh Committee report itself explicitly acknowledged the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) model as an exemplary “model to be followed”—a peaceful, direct election process conducted entirely by students through an independent, elected Student Election Committee without administrative interference, money, or muscle power. Yet, despite JNU’s flawless democratic track record, the Supreme Court stayed the JNUSU elections in 2008 on technical procedural grounds like the candidate age limits and re-contesting of posts. By imposing arbitrary eligibility constraints and administrative control over a self-regulated, highly participatory student democracy, the policy environment under UPA-II severely weakened the capacity of student bodies to function as independent, capably led representative unions.

To understand how youth energy is absorbed in the absence of democratic representation, Craig Jeffrey’s 2009 essay on Meerut University, Fixing Futures: Educated Unemployment, Youth, and Politics in North India, provides the necessary framework. Jeffrey demonstrates how structural unemployment converts campuses into waiting rooms. Deprived of representative unions to bargain collectively against systemic failures, young people are forced into individual survival mechanisms. They become fixers (jugaad intermediaries, or brokers, dalals), trading political compliance for minor administrative concessions or informal rents. The failure of contemporary campuses to rise up in the style of global youth protests or digital mobilisations is not due to apathy; it is the direct structural result of an environment where collective bargaining has been replaced by atomised patronage networks akin to the Sicilian boss-client relationship.

This suppression of student democracy occurs alongside a mounting crisis of economic precarity backed by grim statistical realities. Data from the International Labour Organization (ILO) and the Institute for Human Development (IHD) India Employment Report reveals that educated youth bear the brunt of the nation’s job crisis. Youths account for nearly 83% of the total unemployed workforce in India, with the unemployment rate for university graduates standing at an astonishing 29.1%—nearly nine times higher than for those without formal schooling. Furthermore, the Periodic Labour Force Survey (PLFS) metrics continuously highlight that urban youth unemployment hovers at elevated levels between 13.6% and 14.3%, while roughly 90% of employed youth are pushed into informal, unprotected work. Despite holding degrees, millions of graduates remain trapped in underemployment, gig work, or endless competitive exam preparation. Yet, because campuses lack elected Students’ Unions to channel this systemic frustration into organised political demands, this massive reservoir of youth precarity remains politically inert, barring the latest ongoing movements. India, like the Germany of the 1930s, is on the brink of driving the unemployed youth and the campuses towards political extremism, crime, and murderous narco-culture.

Compounding this crisis is the wholesale capture of university governing bodies by pliant, regime-acolyte administrators and accomplishment-deficient academics. In his scathing critique of Indian higher education, Asking for Trouble: Crises with a Meaning (1984), veteran educationist Amrik Singh (d. 2010) laid bare how the Indian university system was being subverted from within by weak administrative leadership and corrupt appointments. Decades later, in the mid-2020s, Amrik Singh’s earlier warnings have metastasized into absolute reality. A knowledge campus must be led by scholars of recognised distinction, who exercise moral and inspirational influence upon the students. Instead, the internal governing bodies of Indian universities, such as Executive Councils, Academic Councils, Selection Committees, and Vice-Chancellorships, have been stuffed with under-accomplished, pliant, sycophantic individuals whose primary credential is ideological compliance and administrative servitude to the ruling political apparatus.

Across state and central universities, appointments to the highest academic offices routinely bypass scholars with high citation indices, major research monographs, or international peer recognition. Instead, pliant, regime-acolyte Vice-Chancellors with minimal publication records and negligible scholarly impact are installed as political commissars. To maintain their illegitimate control, these Vice-Chancellors surround themselves with similarly under-accomplished internal academics, who function as key collaborators and administrative fixers. Selection panels are shamelessly rigged to bypass highly cited, productive researchers in favour of candidates whose sole qualification is political alignment. Consequently, statutory bodies intended to protect academic freedom are transformed into rubber-stamp committees that penalize dissenting faculty, manipulate recruitment, and ignore systemic corruption.

This institutional decay manifests in distinct ways across major, historic, residential and state-funded campuses, illustrating the stark difference between passive compliance and active resistance.

At the Aligarh Muslim University (AMU), an internal administrative oligarchy has long controlled key university apparatuses. With the prolonged absence of elected student union checks, a small network of senior teacher-administrators has maintained an unchallenged hold over the campus. This environment has allowed serious institutional irregularities to persist—ranging from a huge fee scam, illegal annual increments, illegal placements in the Old Pension Scheme (OPS), and financial opacities in civil construction contracts to administrative nepotism, the illegal retention of perks, unauthorized security deployment, and questionable pension schemes. Rather than challenging these abuses, executive bodies and elected teacher associations have largely chosen silence. At the same time, they offer instant, sharp, and unparliamentary reactions against internal whistle-blowers who expose the internal rot of the administration as well as elected bodies. The narrative-setting elites among Muslims rally desperately to fight for the minority status of AMU, but go silent on rampant irregularities within the very university of theirs. Further, they don’t mobilise themselves with equal alacrity and enthusiasm on other issues of social and gender justice, caste exclusions and economic grievances.

To make things far worse, this specific kind of minority-ism finds support from Left-Liberals. Operating under an unwritten code of Omertà, reminiscent of the institutionalized silence of Sicilian mafia structures depicted in Mario Puzo’s novels, they shield administrative failures under the pretext of protecting institutional identity from external hostility. In AMU this code of Omertà is turned into a more dangerous tool. Internal whistle-blowers are hounded, maligned, vilified, and humiliated by plunderers disguising as men of religiosity. They play dangerous politics of demonstrative religiosity and piety, giving a drum-beating clarion call of “Qaum in danger”. It is an open secret among campus insiders that these very demonstrably and instrumentally “pious” Muslim minority professors queue up in large numbers before Sangh functionaries running the Rashtriya Muslim Manch, intending to become Vice Chancellors (Felix Pal, 2020, offers an insight as to why Muslims join it), even while surreptitiously instigating common Muslim youth that the incumbent regime is rabidly anti-Muslim.

Globally too, Peter Fleming’s 2021 book, Dark Academia: How Universities Die, rightly diagnoses that with the neo-liberalisation of higher education over the last 20 years, universities have been turned into psychological hells for professionally committed academics.

Yet, despite all these odds, the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) demonstrates how active representation can disrupt administrative opacity. On August 13, 2026, the JNU Teachers’ Association (JNUTA), alongside the elected JNU Students’ Union (JNUSU), held a joint press conference at New Delhi’s Press Club of India. Rather than hiding inner ills, they publicly detailed administrative irregularities, arbitrary changes to promotion guidelines, and compromised recruitment procedures enforced by the university executive. Despite facing intense administrative pressure, the presence of an elected student union—built on JNU’s long-standing tradition of self-managed student democracy that survived even the legal curbs of the Lyngdoh recommendations—allowed JNU to maintain a counter-hegemonic force against administrative overreach.

The tragedy of contemporary Indian public universities is an existential crisis of purpose. When campuses are stripped of democratic unions, handed over to regime-acolyte Vice-Chancellors, and silenced by co-opted faculty collaborators, they cease to function as spaces of higher learning and degenerate into administrative fiefdoms. Indian youth stand at a decisive crossroads: to remain passive captives within waiting rooms of managed mediocrity, or to reclaim the historic mantle of May 1968. Reclaiming the university requires breaking the institutional code of silence, ousting unaccomplished administrative syndicates, restoring elected Students’ Unions, and transforming quiet frustration into organised political agitation. Of course, ignoring or delaying the task of employment creation is absolutely unaffordable for India at this point of time.

[The author, a Professor teaches Modern and Contemporary History at Aligarh Muslim University. His X-handle is: @sajjadhist]

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The post Closing of the Indian Mind: Campus subjugation, intellectual mediocrity, & death of democratic assertion appeared first on SabrangIndia.

His name is on the voter list. His family says he has voted in India. He has a voter ID, Aadhaar card, ration card and a land deed in his name.

Yet, according to his family, Akhtar was taken away from his home in Karan Dighi, Uttar Dinajpur, late on the night of June 29, allegedly on suspicion of being a Bangladeshi national.

Nearly two-and-a-half months later, he is still not home.

When Akhtar did not return that night, his family initially thought he might have gone to the mosque to offer prayers. It was only later that they learnt that police personnel from a local camp had allegedly visited his house and taken him away.

For his wife, Tofa Bibi, the question has remained painfully simple.

“If he is an Indian citizen, why was he taken away like this? It has been two months, yet he has still not returned home,” Bibi told eNewsroom (Watch the video).

His Name Is on the Voter List. So Why Is Jalil Akhtar in Custody?

Akhtar’s family says he has lived in India for generations.

They point to the documents they have — his voter ID, Aadhaar card, ration card and a land deed in his name. They also say the names of his ancestors appear in old electoral rolls.

The family further claims that Akhtar exercised his right to vote this year.

For them, that makes his detention difficult to understand.

They say they have never known Akhtar to have travelled to Bangladesh. They are also unsure why his nationality came under suspicion in the first place.

The events of June 29 remain particularly difficult for them to forget.

According to relatives and residents, police arrived at Akhtar’s home late at night and took him away.

At first, nobody knew where he was.

Some villagers thought he had gone to the mosque. When he did not return, residents began looking for him. It was then, according to the family, that they learnt that police personnel from the local camp had visited his home.

The family later came to know that Akhtar had allegedly been kept at different holding centres.

They also claim that during court proceedings, he was described as a resident of Thakurgaon district in Bangladesh.

That is something the family disputes.

They say Akhtar has spent his life in India and has never travelled to Bangladesh.

‘If He Is an Indian Citizen, Why Was He Taken Away?’

For Bibi, the long separation has brought a different kind of worry.

Her husband is 66. The family says he is diabetic.

“He has been away from home for so long. We don’t know what will happen to him,” Bibi said.

Akhtar has two sons. Both work as migrant labourers in other states. He also has two daughters, both of whom are married.

With the sons away for work and the daughters living with their own families, Bibi has been left to deal with the uncertainty at home.

She does not know when her husband will return.

She also does not know what will happen to him if the authorities ultimately decide that he is not an Indian citizen.

The family fears that Akhtar could be sent to Bangladesh. They insist that he has never been there.

Residents have also reportedly raised their voices demanding his release.

But the question of Akhtar’s nationality is now before the court.

Rakesh Singh, Superintendent of Police, Islampur district, told The Telegraph that Akhtar is in judicial custody and that the court will take a decision. The matter, he said, is entirely sub judice.

Akhtar’s lawyer, Mukhtar Ahmed, says the family has already submitted the necessary documents before the court to establish his citizenship.

According to Ahmed, successive hearing dates have been fixed, while Akhtar has remained in jail for the past two-and-a-half months.

The lawyer said Akhtar has been languishing in custody despite the documents submitted in his case.

Dulal Rajbanshi, convenor of the Vote Rights Protection Coordination Committee, whose statement was published in The Telegraph, alleged that there were preparations to send the 66-year-old back to Bangladesh.

Rajbanshi described such a move as a violation of human and constitutional rights.

He also said police have so far failed to establish before the court that Akhtar is an illegal Bangladeshi national.

Those claims are disputed matters before the court and have not been finally established.

What Evidence Does the Administration Have?

The case leaves a number of questions unanswered.

What evidence does the administration have to establish that Akhtar is a Bangladeshi national?

How were the Indian documents held by him examined and verified?

If his name appears on the electoral roll and his family says he voted this year, what led the authorities to question his nationality?

And under what legal process has a 66-year-old man remained in custody for more than two months?

These are questions for the administration and the court to answer.

For Akhtar’s family, however, the matter is not about a legal argument alone.

It is about a man who was at home one night and did not come back.

His sons continue to work in other states. His daughters have their own families. His wife is still waiting.

The SIR process may have left Jalil Akhtar’s name on the electoral roll.

But for his family, that has not brought the relief they expected.

Instead, they are waiting for the return of a husband, father and grandfather whose nationality is now being contested.

And every day that passes leaves Bibi with the same question:

When will Jalil Akhtar come home?

Courtesy: https://enewsroom.in

The post His Name Survived SIR. Then Police Took Him Away: The Unexplained Detention of 66-Year-Old Jalil Akhtar appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The order goes beyond the FIRs specifically placed before the Court by the Delhi Police and the States of Bihar, West Bengal, Assam and Maharashtra. The Court extended the protection to similar FIRs registered anywhere else in the country, including in States and Union Territories that were not parties to the applications. The Court simultaneously barred the registration of any fresh FIR in relation to the protest incidents of July 20-25, subject to one specific exception concerning 2,873 individuals whom the Delhi Police claimed had serious criminal antecedents.

The decision came after the Union government and the four States moved applications seeking the quashing of the FIRs. As reported by LiveLaw, the applications were filed against the backdrop of an assurance allegedly given by the Central government to the Cockroach Janata Party (CJP) leadership on July 25 that cases against protesters would be withdrawn and no fresh FIRs would be registered in connection with the agitation.

The Supreme Court has now converted that assurance into judicial directions, while expressly making its exercise of Article 142 dependent upon both sides honouring the understanding placed before it.

FIRs quashed and proceedings terminated

The order records that thousands of young students participated in protests held between July 20 and July 25 in Delhi, in the applicant-States and in other parts of the country. Following those protests, criminal cases were registered at several police stations. The five applications before the Court were moved by Delhi Police, Bihar, West Bengal, Assam and Maharashtra. They sought the exercise of the Supreme Court’s powers under Article 142 to quash the FIRs arising from the protests.

The Delhi Police application concerned 13 FIRs. Bihar placed 69 FIRs before the Court, while West Bengal sought relief in respect of eight FIRs and Assam in respect of five. Maharashtra placed 34 FIRs before the Court. The Court reproduced the details of these FIRs in its order.

Importantly, the Court did not restrict relief to these identified cases. After the Solicitor General submitted that additional FIRs could have been registered in other States and Union Territories concerning the same incidents, the Court directed that those cases too would not be pursued or investigated. The operative portion of the order states that any other FIR relating to the same incidents of protests between July 20 and July 25, including FIRs in States and Union Territories that were not applicants before the Court, “shall not be pursued or investigated” and shall be treated as closed for all intents and purposes.

The Court further directed that no State or Union Territory shall register any fresh FIR relating to those protest incidents. This makes the order significantly wider than the applications originally placed before the Court. The States that approached the Court sought relief concerning specified FIRs; the Court extended the protection to similarly situated cases across the country.

Court invokes Article 142 to protect students’ future

The central justification recorded by the Bench is the future of the young protesters. The Court noted the submission that the Central government and the applicant-States had consciously decided not to pursue the FIRs “as a gesture of goodwill” and to ensure that the cases did not cause prejudice to young students who had participated in the protests. The order also records an important qualification: “mere participation in the protests is not taken as an offence under the penal laws.”

It was against this background that the Court considered the matter fit for the exercise of its powers under Article 142. The Bench stated that, considering the commitments made before it and “most importantly” the future prospects of young protesters who had bona fide participated in peaceful protests to raise their demands, it was appropriate to invoke Article 142 to “do complete justice”.

The Court consequently quashed the FIRs specifically listed before it, along with all proceedings arising from them. The language of the order is significant because the Court did not merely record the government’s decision not to pursue the cases. It itself terminated the identified FIRs and extended the operative protection to other cases arising from the same protest incidents.

The 2,873-person exception

The order, however, does not provide an unconditional blanket protection to every person who may have been present at the protests. The Delhi Police had specifically sought permission to register a fresh FIR against 2,873 individuals whom it claimed had serious criminal antecedents, based on the National Crime Records Bureau database.

According to the application, these individuals were prima facie reported to have been present at the protest site. The police sought to investigate allegations relating specifically to bodily harm and destruction of public property. The Court permitted the Central government/Delhi Police to register a fresh FIR concerning these 2,873 individuals.

The permission is nevertheless confined to the allegations identified in the application. The order records that the proposed FIR is to concern offences relating to bodily harm or destruction of public property. It also expressly preserves the right of affected persons to pursue lawful remedies.

This distinction is important. The Court has not authorised a reopening of the entire protest-related criminal process against these individuals. It has permitted a fresh FIR within the limited framework sought by Delhi Police and without prejudice to the rights of those affected. The Court also linked this exception to its earlier observations of August 3, 2026, when it had clarified that protection could not be extended to persons with criminal antecedents involving “grave and heinous offences”.

Nationwide protection, despite only five jurisdictions approaching the Court

One of the most consequential features of the order is its pan-India operation. The applications before the Court came from Delhi Police, Bihar, West Bengal, Assam and Maharashtra. Yet the Solicitor General told the Court that there could be FIRs concerning the same protest incidents in other States and Union Territories.

Rather than requiring each affected protester or State to separately approach the Court, the Bench directed that such FIRs would not be pursued or investigated. The Court also barred States and Union Territories from registering fresh FIRs concerning the incidents between July 20 and July 25.

The direction therefore closes the possibility of the same protest incidents continuing to generate criminal proceedings elsewhere. The order also records a commitment by the Delhi Police and the applicant-States that, if another FIR concerning the same incidents comes to their notice, they would not oppose the affected party seeking similar relief from the Supreme Court.

NEET-UG suicide compensation: Union given 90 days

The criminal proceedings were not the only issue addressed by the Court. The Solicitor General informed the Bench that the Central government would formulate a pan-India policy or arrangement for compensation to the families of students who died by suicide in connection with the NEET-UG 2026 examination.

The Court recorded that the students concerned were situated in different parts of the country and consequently directed the Centre, in consultation with the State governments and Union Territories, to formulate the policy within 90 days. Once formulated, compensation is to be paid to the affected families without delay. The order further states that the policy or arrangement may subsequently be adopted by State governments and Union Territories as a regular mechanism for compensatory measures.

This direction gives judicial force to the assurance placed before the Court by the Solicitor General. As reported by LiveLaw, the Centre had sought three months to work out the modalities for compensation. The Court has consequently fixed a 90-day period for the formulation of the nationwide policy.

September 5 CJP march withdrawn in Court

The proceedings also resulted in the withdrawal of the protest march that the CJP had announced for September 5. The proposed march had been announced after the organisation alleged that the government’s assurances concerning the withdrawal of criminal cases had not been implemented.

According to the report of LiveLaw, the proposed demonstration in Delhi was to be held in connection with the demands arising from the NEET examination controversy, including the withdrawal of cases against protesters and compensation for families of students who died by suicide.

During the hearing, CJP co-convener Saurav Das made a statement before the Bench that the organisation was withdrawing the September 5 call in view of the assurances given by the government and the order being passed by the Court. The Supreme Court recorded that statement.

The order then made it clear that the commitments made by all sides would have to be honoured. The Court directed both sides to abide by the statements and commitments made before it and expressly linked the exercise of Article 142 to compliance with the understanding reached between the parties. CJI Surya Kant, according to the proceedings reported by LiveLaw, observed that if both sides acted in good faith, the issues could be resolved one by one.

Article 142 and the Court’s carefully confined intervention

The Court’s use of Article 142 is central to the order. The applications specifically sought the exercise of the Supreme Court’s extraordinary constitutional power to secure the quashing of FIRs that the executive itself had decided it no longer wished to pursue. The order makes clear, however, that the Court is not laying down a general rule for the quashing of protest-related FIRs.

In paragraph 15, the Bench expressly states that its directions are being issued because of the “peculiar facts and circumstances of the case” and “shall not be taken as a binding precedent.”

The Court has therefore crafted relief that is extensive in its immediate reach but expressly limited in its precedential value. The order brings closure to the particular set of protests and the criminal proceedings arising from them, while avoiding a declaration that similar FIRs in future protest cases must necessarily be quashed. The order also makes the settlement between the parties an important component of the Article 142 exercise. The Court records that its extraordinary powers are subject to the condition that both sides abide by the terms of the mutual understanding placed before it.

A judicial closure of the criminal fallout of the July protests

The order ultimately produces a comprehensive closure of the criminal proceedings arising from the specified July protests. The FIRs specifically placed before the Court have been quashed. Other FIRs concerning the same incidents, even where they were not formally brought before the Bench, are not to be pursued or investigated. States and Union Territories have been prohibited from registering fresh FIRs concerning those incidents. The only express exception is the liberty granted to Delhi Police concerning the 2,873 individuals identified in its application. The Court has simultaneously directed the Centre to formulate a nationwide compensation mechanism within 90 days for families of students who died by suicide in connection with NEET-UG 2026.

The order is thus structured around two forms of closure: criminal proceedings arising from the protests are brought to an end, while the government’s commitment concerning compensation to affected families is placed on a defined judicial timeline.

At the same time, the Bench has carefully confined the constitutional significance of its intervention. It has not declared the quashing of protest FIRs to be a general rule. Instead, it has treated the matter as an exceptional exercise of Article 142 arising from the particular circumstances before it, the commitments made by the parties, and the Court’s concern that the criminal cases should not prejudice the future prospects of young protesters who had participated in the agitation.

The order closes with the Court placing on record its appreciation of the Union government, the applicant-States, counsel and the CJP leadership for their “constructive and cooperative approach”, noting that this had kept the interests and future of the young students at the forefront. The Supreme Court has made clear, however, that this resolution rests on the peculiar circumstances of this case and the commitments made before it. It is precisely for that reason that the Bench has directed that the order not be treated as a binding precedent.

The complete order may be read below:

Detailed reports on the withdrawal of FIRs may be read here, here and here.

Detailed reports on brute force used by police on the protestors may be read here, here, here and here.

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The post NEET Protests: Supreme Court ends criminal proceedings against students across India appeared first on SabrangIndia.

A Bench comprising Justices Atul Sreedharan and Achal Sachdev allowed Chaudhary’s habeas corpus petition and held that the detention was founded on what the Court described as a “concocted story” by the State. The Court directed that she be released immediately if her custody was not required in any other case. The Court also directed the Noida authorities to pay her ₹5 lakh in compensation. The detailed order is awaited.

However, Bar & Bench has reported that Chaudhary is likely to remain in custody for the time being because she has not yet secured bail in the other criminal cases registered in connection with the Noida workers’ agitation. The judgment comes after the Bench subjected the State’s version of Chaudhary’s arrest and alleged involvement in the violence to close scrutiny, particularly the chronology of her arrest and the notices issued under the Bharatiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanhita (BNSS).

Court questions sequence of arrest and BNSS notices

During the hearing, the State told the Court that Chaudhary had been arrested at 10:56 a.m. on April 12, 2026 and that a notice under Section 130 of the BNSS had been issued to her. The State’s case was that Chaudhary had instigated protesters to engage in stone-pelting and arson. The Bench, however, questioned whether the procedure prescribed under the BNSS had actually been followed.

Justice Sreedharan specifically asked whether Chaudhary had first been served a notice under Section 126. The State acknowledged that no such notice had been issued and that the notice under Section 130 had instead been served. The Court then examined the chronology of the documents and the General Diary (GD) entry. Justice Sreedharan questioned how a notice could have been prepared after Chaudhary had already been arrested.

As reported by LiveLaw, the Court observed in court: “Ab ismei GD entry dekhiye, usko arrest karliya fir notice banaya.”

The Bench further pointed to the apparent inconsistency between the arrest record and the notice, observing that the record indicated that Chaudhary had already been arrested before the notice was prepared. The Court’s questioning went to the heart of the legality of the detention: whether the State had followed the statutory sequence required before taking the drastic step of arrest and subsequently placing Chaudhary under preventive detention.

‘Whatever violence has happened is after her arrest’

The Court also closely examined the State’s claim that Chaudhary had played a role in instigating the violence during the workers’ protest. The State relied on the events surrounding the workers’ mobilisation and alleged that Chaudhary had encouraged protesters to resort to violence, including stone-pelting and arson. But the Bench drew attention to the chronology of events.

According to the State’s own account, people had gathered for the protest on April 11. Justice Sreedharan pointed out that the significant violence relied upon by the prosecution occurred only later.

“Yani 11 ko koi violence nahi tha. Whatever violence has happened is after her arrest,” the Court observed, according to LiveLaw.

The observation was significant because the State’s case depended on establishing Chaudhary’s connection to the violence. If she had already been arrested before the violence that formed the basis of the allegations, the Court was evidently questioning how the State could attribute subsequent acts of violence to her.

Where is the video evidence?

The Bench had already expressed concern about the evidentiary basis of the State’s allegations during the previous hearing. On September 1, the Court had specifically asked the Uttar Pradesh government to produce video footage showing Chaudhary allegedly instigating protesters to throw stones or set vehicles on fire. The State sought additional time to obtain and produce the footage. The Court refused.

Justice Sreedharan noted that Chaudhary had already spent approximately five months in custody and said, “I won’t give time. She has been in jail for 5 months.”

The Bench had also warned that if the record ultimately showed an arbitrary exercise of power, costs could be imposed on the officials concerned. The issue resurfaced during the final hearing when the State relied upon witness statements that allegedly named Chaudhary. The Bench, however, sought something more specific: where was the material showing that she had actually instigated the violence?

The Court also questioned the State’s reliance on the chargesheet, asking where the witnesses had specifically implicated her and where the videographic evidence demonstrated the alleged acts of instigation.

From workers’ protest to NSA detention

Chaudhary’s detention stems from the Noida workers’ protests of April 2026, which began over demands for higher wages and improved working conditions and later escalated into violence, arson and clashes with the police. The protests began peacefully but turned violent on April 13. Police subsequently arrested a large number of workers and activists and registered multiple criminal cases.

Chaudhary, a Delhi University history graduate and activist, was among those arrested. The Uttar Pradesh government subsequently invoked the NSA against her and journalist and activist Satyam Verma on May 13. The police alleged that the two had played a significant role in the violence and disruption associated with the workers’ agitation.

At the time, Gautam Buddh Nagar Police Commissioner Laxmi Singh claimed that the police had “strong electronic and videographic evidence” against Chaudhary, Verma and others arrested in connection with the protests. The police’s version was that the violence was not spontaneous but part of a wider organised effort.

Detailed report may be read here and here.

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The post Allahabad HC quashes NSA detention of Aakriti Chaudhary, questions ‘concocted’ State narrative in Noida workers’ protest case appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In its memorandum dated September 2, the organisations have collectively argued that the incident cannot be dismissed as an isolated administrative lapse. The memorandum has called for a comprehensive investigation into how thousands of original election documents came to be outside official custody, why they were being reproduced at a commercial establishment and whether the breach points to wider vulnerabilities in the handling of voter information during the SIR exercise.

The Kharghar incident assumes added significance because of the scale of the ongoing revision process. According to figures cited by the Chief Electoral Officer, around 2.07 crore Enumeration Forms have been classified as uncollectable in Maharashtra at the draft stage. While the Election Commission has clarified that being classified as uncollectable does not automatically mean that an elector has been permanently excluded from the electoral roll, CJP has argued that the sheer magnitude of the figure makes the integrity of every stage of the verification process a matter of exceptional public importance.

3,404 original forms found at private photocopying centre

The controversy emerged on August 27, when election-related forms were reportedly found at a photocopying centre in Sector 19, Kharghar. According to reports cited in the memorandum, the recovered documents were original SIR Enumeration Forms relating to multiple polling stations under the 188-Panvel Assembly Constituency. A revenue team subsequently examined the documents, and election authorities reportedly confirmed that they were genuine election forms. Reports have stated that the forms related to 11 polling stations.

The incident reportedly came to light following a complaint concerning the photocopying of the forms. A person identified in media reports as Suraj Patil, described as a BJP functionary, was allegedly found handling the forms. The police subsequently seized the documents and an FIR was registered. Five Booth Level Officers associated with the forms were also suspended, with a departmental inquiry initiated into how the documents reached the private premises.

In the memorandum, the groups state that culpability must be established through an impartial investigation. At the same time, the memorandum argues that the reported political connection makes it particularly important for the State Election Commission to establish whether access to the forms was authorised and, if not, how such access was facilitated. The central question, according to CJP, is therefore not simply who was found with the forms, but how the forms travelled from the official election machinery to a private establishment in the first place.

Where did the documents leave the official chain of custody?

The memorandum places particular emphasis on the chain of custody (chain of command in law) of the Enumeration Forms. SIR forms are part of an official electoral exercise and contain voter-related information. Their handling therefore requires safeguards that ensure that the documents remain accessible only to persons authorised to use them for election-related purposes.

The discovery of thousands of original forms at a commercial photocopying centre raises questions about every stage of their movement. CJP and others has therefore called for the reconstruction of the entire chain of custody, beginning with the collection of the forms from electors and continuing through their storage, transportation, access and eventual recovery.

The organisation has also stressed that the inquiry should not automatically end with the suspension of the five BLOs. If the evidence points towards supervisory, administrative or other responsibility, those aspects too must be investigated. The issue is particularly significant because of the sheer number of documents involved. The presence of 3,404 forms cannot be explained simply as an isolated document inadvertently carried outside an office. The authorities must establish who had access to them, who authorised their movement and why they were taken to a private photocopying facility.

A voter-data security concern, not merely a paperwork lapse

The memorandum has also raised concerns about what may have happened to the information contained in the forms. The organisation has urged the authorities to determine whether the documents were merely photocopied or whether they were also scanned, photographed, digitally stored, transmitted or reproduced in any other manner.

This is an important distinction. Physical recovery of the original forms does not necessarily establish that no copies remain elsewhere. CJP, VFD and BCS have therefore called for relevant CCTV footage, electronic records and equipment used in the photocopying process to be preserved and examined as part of the investigation.

The memorandum argues that once voter-level information leaves the controlled environment of the election machinery, the potential risk extends beyond the physical documents. Copies could potentially be retained or disseminated without the knowledge of election authorities.

For CJP, VFD and BCS, citizens who provide information to the State as part of the electoral process are entitled to an assurance that such information will be used only for legitimate electoral purposes and handled through secure procedures.

The 2.07 crore figure makes the breach more consequential

The memorandum has linked the Kharghar incident to the wider concerns surrounding the SIR exercise in Maharashtra. The Chief Electoral Officer has stated that approximately 2.07 crore Enumeration Forms have been classified as uncollectable, comprising categories including voters who were absent or not found, those who had permanently shifted, deceased persons, duplicates or persons already enrolled elsewhere.

The Election Commission has emphasised that these classifications are provisional and that the draft electoral roll is not the final roll. Eligible voters whose names are missing can participate in the claims and objections process and seek inclusion or correction. The memorandum has acknowledged this position but has argued that the availability of a remedy does not, by itself, eliminate concerns arising from the scale of exclusion. An elector who does not know that their name has disappeared from the draft roll may not necessarily approach the authorities. Similarly, an elector incorrectly classified as shifted, deceased, duplicated or absent may face a significant administrative burden in establishing that they remain eligible.

In this context, the Kharghar incident raises a broader question: can the public have confidence in the accuracy of the electoral roll if the documents on which that roll is being prepared are not demonstrably secure? For CJP, this is why the Kharghar episode cannot be treated merely as a local dispute.

CJP and others seeks statewide audit

The organisation has called for the Kharghar incident to trigger a statewide audit of the custody and handling of SIR Enumeration Forms. Such an audit, CJP argues, should establish whether similar instances of unauthorised possession, removal, reproduction or mishandling have occurred elsewhere in Maharashtra.

The memorandum also calls for the Election Commission to strengthen and publicly disclose uniform safeguards governing the custody, movement, reproduction, storage and disposal of SIR documents. This, CJP says, is necessary not only to identify wrongdoing after it occurs but to prevent vulnerabilities in the system from being repeated.

Transparency is essential to restoring public confidence

The memorandum has also called for the findings of the Kharghar inquiry to be made public, subject to legitimate restrictions relating to personal information or an ongoing criminal investigation. The organisation argues that the public should not be left to choose between competing political claims about what happened. The State Election Commission, as the institution responsible for the electoral process, must establish the facts and communicate them transparently. For CJP, the issue ultimately extends beyond the Kharghar photocopying centre.

An electoral roll determines who is recognised by the State as entitled to participate in an election. Its preparation therefore forms part of the foundation of the democratic process itself. The discovery of thousands of original SIR forms outside the expected chain of custody, followed by the suspension of five BLOs and the registration of an FIR, has already exposed a serious administrative vulnerability. When viewed alongside the 2.07 crore forms classified as uncollectable, that vulnerability assumes greater significance.

The memorandum therefore calls upon the Election Commission to treat the episode as an institutional matter rather than merely an isolated breach. Its demand is ultimately for something fundamental to any electoral exercise: that every eligible citizen’s place on the electoral roll be determined through a process that is secure, transparent, impartial and capable of independent scrutiny.

The credibility of an election does not begin on polling day. It begins with the integrity of the electoral roll—and with public confidence that the machinery preparing that roll is not vulnerable to unauthorised access, administrative failures or partisan interference.

The complete memorandum may be on the CJP website here.

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The post 3,404 SIR Forms Found at Kharghar Xerox Shop: CJP, VFD and BCS demands answers from Maharashtra SEC appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In the 1970’s and the 1980’s for leftist activists and researchers looking for risen-from- the-ranks left-oriented but independent trade union leaders, white-collar D Thankappan, president of the Kamani Employees Union (KEU) was the go-to man in Mumbai (then Bombay). This period also saw the raise of Dr Datta Samant the militant trade union leader whose reputation was spreading all over the industrial pockets of Bombay and Thane. Samant’s bargaining tactics was unique. He simply refused to look at the balance sheets and account statements prepared by the management and demanded pay increases which to some sounded “ridiculously high”. Yet, faced with prolonged strikes, the man managements did pay up. The fact that the same industries continued to grow and prosper was proof in retrospect that the balance sheets drawn up by the management had something to hide.

Every success of Dr Samant attracted workers from factory after factory, who deserted their existing union leaders to join Dr Samant in the eastern suburbs of Bombay. However, the Kamani Employees’ Union stood unmoved by this growing tide. The reason was simple: D Thankappan. If Samant relied on raw militancy to get workers a better deal, Thankappan’s approach combined brain with brawn. If Samant refused to look at balance sheets, Thankappan was adept in beating the Kamani management in their own game.

Thus it was that while factory after factory around the Kamani establishment in Kurla, Kamani workers kept their faith in Thankappan and the union he led. While other union leaders were losing out to Samant, Thankappan not only rode a steady ship, but felt unthreatened and always appreciated the better deals that Samant was able to gain for his union workers.

Left activists who kept constant touch with Thankappan as they learnt a lot from him not only about his own negotiating skills but also about the state of the working class movement in the country. A particularly endearing aspect of Thankappan’s character was his inclusive, non-sectarian approach. He regularly engaged with activists who ideologically were often at daggers drawn against each other.

At the union level, while Thankappan’s union was limited to Kamani he was never insular, always among the first to joint action.

While Thankappan could look back at much of the achievements of the union led by him, of one thing he remained regretful. The man who devoted his entire life to working class solidarity, was deeply saddened by the fact that when the communal fire raged in Bombay in December 1992-January 1993 in the after math of the demolition of the Babri Masjid, even the workers of Kamani turned out to be Hindus first and workers later.

Ashok Choudhary, ex-General Secretary & Working President of the All India Union of Forest Working Peoples (AIUFWP)

Comrade D. Thankappan was fully committed to uniting diverse sections of working people’s movements. Although he belonged to the Kamanis Employees Union (KEU), an organised sector union, he was simultaneously very engaged with the Kamani Construction Workers Union which was a Union in the unorganised sector. He was also instrumental in organising several other unions from this sector into the Unorganized Workers Federation and linking them to individual unions in the organised sector. He was also a firm believer in the independence of trade unions from company managements, government and even political parties. For Comrade D Thankappan, any trade union leader or member could individually belong to any political party but the union itself should not function under the control of any political party. This principle is very important for the working people’s movement.

On behalf of the Presidium of the All India Union of Forest Working Peoples (AIUFWP), Roma writes:

It is with deep sorrow that we share the news of Comrade Thankappan’s passing today.

He was the architect and a founding member of our union. It was he who spearheaded the campaign starting in 1992 to raise awareness about the concept of forming a union for forest workers (Van Shramjeevi). He also established the National Centre for Labour (NCL)—a coalition for the country’s unorganised sector—of which our forest workers’ organization was a part. It was through the NCL that we connected with other unorganized sector unions across the country.

Back in 1992, at his initiative, we prepared a document titled “Comprehensive Legislation on Forest Rights”—a draft law concerning forest resources. In a sense, it was through his initiative that we, for the first time, worked to secure the status of “forest workers” for forest-dependent communities across the nation and brought their numbers to public attention.

Later, in 2006, he played a founding role in the formation of the New Trade Union Initiative (NTUI), in which our union played a pivotal part. His tireless contributions can never be forgotten; our union exists today because of his ideology.

His greatest dream was to see the union led by women. He used to spend hours discussing women’s leadership with Sokalo-ji and me. When we formed the union in Odisha and elected Jarjum Ete-ji as its president, his joy knew no bounds. As women gradually took on leadership roles, he told me that his dream had been realized.

To us, he was truly like a parent—a guardian of the organization, even more than our own parents.

We are proud to have been associated with Comrade Thankappan; it is a matter of great honor for us.

Red Salute to Comrade Thankappan.

Roma (On behalf of the Presidium) AIUFWP

Teesta Setalvad, senior journalist and secretary, Citizens for Justice & Peace adds:

D Thankappan, an icon for the trade union movement, especially for his novel approach and pioneering the concept of co-operative ownership by the workers who ran Kamani, was unique in so many ways. My first close association with him was over the wider mobilization and collective that emerged countryside after the Bhopal Gas disaster, where his articulation of corporate and state accountability for the ghastly irresponsible and murderous leak of the deadly methyl isocyanate (MIC), a highly dangerous chemical used to make pesticide took the articulations of sustained action against first Union Carbide Corporation (then Everready, MP government and finally Dow Chemicals). Patient and thoughtful, Thankappan, comrade Thankappan was willing to engage in creative and new methods of articulation, protest and organisation.

History will decide whether the Kamani workers struggle with comrade D Thankappan at its helm was ‘successful’ or not, path-breaking it certainly was. He gained nationwide prominence for pioneering a historic experiment in workers’ self-management and cooperative capitalism at Kamani Tubes Limited (KTL) in Mumbai. As the leader and working president of the Kamani Employees Union (KEU), Thankappan spearheaded one of India’s most significant labour-led industrial turnarounds during the late 1980s His close association with my father Atul Setalvad, senior counsel to pursue the legal battles for the union in India’s constitutional courts brought together two interesting persons from two sides of the intellectual and ideological spectrum.

Understanding the brief trajectory of that struggle is significant. In line with the pattern followed by several ‘family-owned’ companies, following internecine family disputes and financial mismanagement by the original promoters, Kamani Tubes Limited was abandoned and shut down in 1985. Instead of silently accepting their fate, and the liquidation, D Thankappan as working president of the KEU moved the Supreme Court of India under Article 32. A master strategist, he realised and valued the counsel of Setalvad, and together worked and thereafter presented a comprehensive scheme under the Sick Industrial Companies Act (SICA) to restart the factory using a workers’ cooperative. The landmark judgment delivered in September 1988, had the Supreme Court approving the scheme. The court ordered banks and the Board for Industrial and Financial Reconstruction (BIFR) to back the cooperative, establishing that the “right to livelihood” extends to workers taking over management to revive a company. This was a first, and though finally the initiative stumbled, it remains a turning point in the history of the working class movement of the country.

His sustained involvement and articulation of Adivasi ownership on cultivation and forest produce resulted in sharp and in-depth articulations for the All India Union of Forest Working Peoples (AIUFWP) at whose annual and bi-annual meetings we met—and deliberated, despite his failing health. My dear friend and colleague Roma has articulated D Thankappan’s close mentorship of the Forest Worker’s Movement best.

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The post Adieu Comrade Thankappan – Javed Anand, Roma, Teesta Setalvad appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Dalit, Adivasi, rural and economically disadvantaged communities have repeatedly raised these concerns, often from the sharpest end of the crisis. For children in remote villages and tribal settlements, the loss of a neighbourhood school can mean a long and unsafe journey to another village. For students in government and municipal schools, a vacant teacher’s post can mean months or years without instruction in crucial subjects. For children living in government hostels and Ashram schools, inadequate sanitation, food, security and medical facilities can turn access to education into a question of basic safety and dignity. Moreover, for families seeking education in Marathi, the steady weakening of Marathi-medium institutions raises questions about whether the State is preserving meaningful choice or allowing an entire public education network to wither.

The Maharashtra media and even some sections of the “national legacy media” have reported these failures repeatedly, but largely as separate episodes: a school without teachers here, a dangerous building there, a protest over toilets or hostels elsewhere, a proposed school merger or closure, a dispute over Marathi-medium education, or a new policy promising modernisation. The result has been a fragmented public conversation about what is, in reality, a connected and longstanding crisis. These issues crucial to access and participation in a democracy have never been the subject of a sustained media campaign. Successive governments have announced schemes, reviews, reforms and infrastructure programmes, while the underlying questions of staffing, access, funding and accountability have remained.

What is equally striking is how little political space this crisis has occupied as a sustained issue. Despite Maharashtra’s large network of government, Zilla Parishad and municipal schools, and despite repeated concerns raised by teachers, parents, educationists and marginalised communities, the condition of public schooling has rarely been made a central political question. Opposition parties have criticised individual decisions, school closures or government policies, but the broader deterioration of the public education system has not consistently been treated as a major political issue.

It was against this backdrop that the recent School Thik Karo campaign brought the condition of government schools into a more concentrated public spotlight. The campaign led by Cockroach Janta Party convenor Abhijeet Dipke has sought to document basic deficiencies in schools across Maharashtra and place them before the public. Its significance lies in something larger: it has attempted to connect problems that have too often been reported, protested and debated separately. The crisis, however, predates the campaign by years.

The evidence is now difficult to dismiss as a series of isolated incidents. Maharashtra’s own education data records schools without electricity, internet connectivity, functional computers, accessible toilets and adequate teaching staff. Students have protested because teachers are missing. Adivasi students have gone on hunger strike over hostel conditions. Parents and activists have opposed school closures, mergers and relocations. Marathi-medium schools have steadily declined. Teachers are being pulled away from classrooms for non-academic duties, including prolonged election-related work. At the same time, governments have explored cluster schools, school adoption and Public-Private Partnership models even as large parts of the public system continue to struggle with basic infrastructure and vacancies.

This is therefore not simply a story about a few poorly maintained schools, nor is it only about the latest government policy or the latest student protest. It is a story about what happens when the State’s responsibility to provide public education is repeatedly addressed through piecemeal interventions while the structural weaknesses of the system remain.

Maharashtra now speaks the language of a “modern”, digital and future-ready education system. However, before asking whether its schools are ready for artificial intelligence, coding, smart classrooms and digital learning, there is a more basic question to answer: are its schools adequately staffed, safely accessible, properly equipped and capable of providing every child with a meaningful education? The answer emerging from the experiences of students, teachers, parents, marginalised communities and the State’s own data is far more troubling than the language of modernisation suggests.

Justice Varale questions education spending as Marathi-medium schools face closure

Nothing exposes Maharashtra state’s education policy priorities more than what was highlighted by a Supreme Court Judge recently.

Speaking about the condition of Marathi-medium schools weeks ago, Supreme Court Justice P.B. Varale on Saturday, August 22, reportedly questioned the State’s spending priorities, saying that even a fraction of the funds earmarked for the Nashik Kumbh Mela could have helped prevent the closure of hundreds of Marathi-medium schools. The Times of India reported that Justice Varale made the remarks during an event at his former school in Nashik.

Justice Varale reportedly referred to the Maharashtra government’s proposed expenditure on Kumbh infrastructure and a corridor project, while clarifying that he did not oppose such spending. However, he questioned whether a small portion of the allocation could instead have been directed towards education. He said that 0.1% of the Kumbh allocation, amounting to around Rupees 32 Crore, could have helped save more than 100–150 Marathi-medium schools from closure, according to the report.

The Maharashtra government has informed the Union government that a comprehensive development plan of Rupees 22,425.39 Crore has been approved for the 2027 Nashik Simhastha Kumbh Mela. The plan was approved at a meeting of the Apex Committee chaired by the Chief Minister on March 13, 2026, with the Kumbh scheduled to begin in October 2026.

Justice Varale also drew attention to the condition of residential schools, particularly ashramshalas catering to students from marginalised communities. Referring to reports of three girl students at an ashramshala who died after allegedly being bitten by snakes while sleeping on the floor, he reportedly said that the overall condition of several residential schools remained “pathetic”.

His remarks also pointed to a broader concern over the State’s changing budgetary priorities. Justice Varale reportedly observed that the share of the budget allocated to education, which had earlier ranged between 8% and 12%, had declined.

Modern education system cannot be built on disappearing schools

Perhaps the most significant development in Maharashtra’s education story is that students and their families are increasingly refusing to remain passive recipients of policy. Adivasi students have gone on hunger strike, Dharashiv students have sat outside the Zilla Parishad CEO’s office, villagers have locked a school in protest over teacher shortages, parents have challenged school relocations, and activists have documented failures in school infrastructure.

The protests differ in geography and immediate demand, but they share a common message: children and their families are being asked to accept gaps in a system that the State continues to describe as modern, inclusive and future-ready. Educationist Prabhu Mohapatra, commenting on the wider rise in student protests, told PTI that students were increasingly asserting themselves as stakeholders in education policy and that the protests reflected concerns over infrastructure, teacher availability and the quality of learning.

That assertion of agency may be the most important shift in Maharashtra’s education story. Students are not demanding luxury. They are demanding teachers, safe school buildings, functioning toilets, drinking water, adequate classrooms, accessible schools and the ability to continue learning in their own language. They are asking for the basic conditions necessary for education, and for the State to treat those conditions not as discretionary benefits but as public obligations. Maharashtra now has two competing narratives about education.

The first is the official narrative: smart classrooms, artificial intelligence, coding, digital platforms, teacher training, modernisation and a “mission mode” transformation of the education system. The second is emerging from classrooms, villages, hostels and protests: missing teachers, inadequate infrastructure, unsafe or unsuitable accommodation, inaccessible schools, unreliable or disputed data, and institutions facing closure or merger. Both realities have to be confronted.

The government can legitimately point to improvements and new initiatives, and its officials have disputed some of the broader allegations concerning infrastructure. But the State’s own U-DISE data, the Centre’s Project Approval Board review, the Bombay High Court’s intervention and repeated student and parent protests point to structural weaknesses that cannot be resolved through announcements alone.

The decline of Marathi-medium schools makes the problem even more consequential. This is not simply an infrastructure crisis; it is also a question of what kind of public education Maharashtra intends to preserve. If Marathi is to be protected, Marathi-medium schools cannot merely be celebrated symbolically. They must be adequately funded, staffed, upgraded and made capable of providing quality education without forcing parents to abandon the language in which their children have been studying.

If a school has low enrolment, the first question should therefore not automatically be how soon it can be closed. The more fundamental question is why enrolment is falling in the first place.

Is the school inadequately staffed? Are its buildings and facilities deteriorating? Are teachers being diverted to non-teaching duties? Is the school too far from where families now live? Has urban redevelopment displaced the community it once served? Are parents choosing other schools because the Marathi-medium option is perceived to offer poorer infrastructure or fewer opportunities? Has the medium of instruction itself become stigmatised? In addition, crucially, could targeted investment reverse the decline?

These questions become particularly urgent when the children affected are poor, rural, tribal or dependent on Marathi-medium government schools. For such families, the closure of a neighbourhood school is not simply an administrative restructuring. It can mean longer journeys, additional transport costs, greater dependence on private education and, in some cases, the eventual withdrawal of children from school altogether. And where closure is genuinely unavoidable, the State must be able to answer a more basic question: where exactly will every child go?

The Maharashtra government has now promised a time-bound transformation of the education system. The measure of that transformation, however, should not be the number of schemes announced, platforms launched, classrooms labelled “smart” or meetings conducted. It should be visible in the ordinary conditions in which children actually study.

It should mean a functioning fan in a classroom, a usable toilet, clean drinking water, adequate teachers, a safe hostel, a working computer, a laboratory that has actually been built and equipped, and a school that remains within reasonable reach of the children it serves. It should also mean a Marathi-medium school that is not forced to fight simply to survive.

Until these become ordinary features rather than exceptional achievements, the phrase “modern education system” will remain more aspiration than reality. A State cannot credibly claim to be building the schools of the future while allowing existing schools to become inaccessible, under-resourced or disappear altogether.

August 2026: Students on hunger strike for the right to study

The latest and perhaps most revealing episode came from Maharashtra’s Adivasi student community. In August 2026, tribal students in Pune and elsewhere in Maharashtra began protesting against a range of issues concerning government hostels and Ashram schools. Six students continued a hunger strike at the Adivasi Government Boys Hostel near the Hadapsar-Manjari border.

The immediate trigger was a Government Resolution issued on August 14, 2026, imposing a maximum age of 30 years for admission to tribal hostels. But the students’ demands went far beyond the age restriction.

The protest also brought allegations about the treatment of female students into focus. On August 24, Leader of Opposition in the Lok Sabha Rahul Gandhi wrote to Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis raising concerns about the conditions described to him by tribal students. He alleged that hostels were unsafe and lacked adequate food, sanitation and medical care, and referred to claims that female students returning after an extended absence were subjected to pregnancy and other medical tests.

The Hindu also reported on August 24, the protesting students demanded the withdrawal of the August 14 Government Resolution and a revised order based on the earlier November 11, 2011 framework, with allowances linked to inflation. They sought greater protection for students living in tribal hostels and Ashram schools, ₹1 crore insurance cover for tribal students, ₹1 crore compensation for the families of three tribal girls who died following a snake-bite incident in Gadchiroli, a safe and properly equipped hostel for female students in Pune, and immediate filling of vacant posts including peons, security guards and sanitation workers.

The scale of dependence on these hostels is itself significant. As The Indian Express reported on August 26, the Tribal Development Department runs 490 government hostels across Maharashtra, accommodating between 58,000 and 60,000 students every year. The government ultimately backed down on the immediate issue. On August 25, following discussions with tribal legislators and MPs, Tribal Development Minister Ashok Uike announced that the 30-year age limit had been scrapped and that there would be no age restriction for admission to Adivasi hostels. The Indian Express reported that the decision came a day after Rahul Gandhi had raised the matter with Fadnavis. The government therefore acted. However, it acted after 13 days of hunger strike.

That sequence matters. It raises the question of how many of the other problems raised by the students — safety, sanitation, staffing, food, medical care and financial support — will require another protest before they receive sustained attention.

July 2026: “We need teachers, not promises”

The same pattern was visible in Dharashiv. On July 31, India Today reported that Class 10 students of a Zilla Parishad secondary school in Sonari village had begun an indefinite sit-in outside the Zilla Parishad Chief Executive Officer’s office demanding regular secondary-school teachers. Their complaint was not new. According to the protesting students, several teaching and staff posts had remained vacant for nearly four years. Repeated representations had allegedly failed to produce concrete action. A day before the sit-in, villagers had locked the school to draw attention to the shortage.

Students particularly objected to primary-school teachers being used to teach secondary classes, arguing that students preparing for the SSC examination required qualified subject teachers. The protest carried an especially pointed message. Students invoked the government’s “Beti Bachao, Beti Padhao” campaign and asked, in effect: what does saving the girl child mean if she is then denied the teachers required to complete her education? They also invoked Dr B.R. Ambedkar’s call to “Educate, Organise and Agitate”.

They said they had already approached the Zilla Parishad CEO, Education Officer, District Collector and Superintendent of Police on July 28, but claimed that no effective action followed.

This is not merely a question of staffing. For a Class 10 student, a missing teacher is not an abstract administrative vacancy. It can mean an incomplete syllabus, inadequate preparation for a board examination and, for poorer families, pressure to pay for private tuition that they may not be able to afford. Moreover, the state already knows that teacher shortages are a wider problem.

The Government’s own data exposes the gap

On July 17, the findings emerging from the Ministry of Education’s U-DISE 2025-26 data provided that Maharashtra had 108,139 schools, 21.6 million students and 750,272 teachers. But 3,201 schools had no electricity connection at all. Another 10,938 had electricity connections that were not functional. A further 23,855 schools had no internet connectivity. Of the 90,419 schools that had computer facilities, computers were functional in only 84,530. That left 23,609 schools without operational computer systems.

The contradiction is hard to miss. The state is speaking increasingly about artificial intelligence, coding, smart classrooms and digital learning. Yet thousands of its schools are still struggling with the infrastructure required to switch on a computer, let alone build a digital classroom. The problem goes beyond technology. U-DISE data showed that 9,269 schools were single-teacher schools, catering to 179,104 students. More than 32,000 schools lacked separate toilets for children with disabilities, while 16,341 did not have ramps with railings.

There were 2,019 unusable girls’ toilets and 3,280 unusable boys’ toilets, with the data attributing the problem to issues including water, maintenance and pending repairs. Another 3,932 schools lacked playgrounds and 1,099 lacked a library or book bank. Only 13,550 schools had digital libraries, leaving 94,589 without one. These figures matter because they are not merely the claims of opposition parties or activists; they come from the government’s own education database.

Teachers are being asked to do more with less

Teachers have also described the consequences of this system. Vijay Kombe, president of the Maharashtra State Primary Teachers’ Committee, told ETV Bharat that schools continued to face shortages of basic items such as mats, desks and benches. He said local-government schools lacked dedicated cleaning staff and that teachers in some places were consequently forced to clean classrooms and toilets, sometimes with students’ help.

Kombe also claimed that more than 75 per cent of primary schools run by local self-government bodies lacked headmasters, leaving teachers to combine administrative duties with classroom teaching. He criticised the staffing arrangement in low-enrolment schools, under which one primary teacher may have to manage multiple classes, while one teacher may be required to teach all subjects for Classes 6 to 8.

There is, however, an important official counterpoint. Divisional Deputy Director of Education Rajesh Kankal said drinking-water facilities were available in more than 100,000 schools, while more than 107,000 had hand-washing facilities and more than 102,000 conducted annual health check-ups. He said the administration was working to rectify the remaining shortcomings. The issue, therefore, is not that Maharashtra has no facilities.

It is that the existence of facilities in the majority of schools does not erase the thousands of schools where they are absent, dysfunctional or inaccessible. For a child attending one of those schools, the state-wide average offers little comfort.

SIR extension keeps teachers away from classrooms

The extension of the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls in Maharashtra has prolonged the deployment of teachers as Booth Level Officers (BLOs) and support staff, affecting regular classroom teaching, unit tests and other academic activities. Teachers who were expected to return to schools by August 8 had been assigned election-related duties until August 17, with house visits, voter verification and form-related work continuing even as schools prepare for examinations and work to complete the syllabus.

The timing has added to existing pressures on schools. Unit tests scheduled for August and periodic assessments meant to track students’ learning are being affected, while teachers are also required to cover new textbooks introduced for Standards III, IV and VI under the National Education Policy. In some government and civic schools, more than 70% of teaching staff has reportedly been deployed for SIR-related work, leaving schools with reduced staff and, in some cases, forcing them to operate for only half the day. Teachers and school heads have said the prolonged absence is making it difficult to complete teaching and conduct examinations as scheduled.

The impact extends beyond teachers formally appointed as BLOs, with other teaching and non-teaching employees being assigned to assist with the exercise. In one school, Headmaster Tanaji Mane said three teachers initially appointed as BLOs were later joined by teaching and non-teaching staff who were relieved of their regular duties. Data cited by Progressive Teachers Association president Tanaji Kamble from Mumbai’s Ghatkopar East constituency reportedly showed that 184 of 283 BLOs were from the Education Department, including 157 teachers. Teachers have also faced pressure to report for election duties, with police notices reportedly issued to some who failed to do so. Educationists and teacher representatives have consequently questioned whether such prolonged deployment is compatible with the State’s responsibility to ensure uninterrupted schooling.

The issue ultimately raises a larger question about how election-related administrative work is being balanced against children’s right to regular education. Teachers have described the SIR process as continuous and demanding, while educationists have warned that prolonged absence from classrooms can disrupt learning, assessments and syllabus completion. With the electoral exercise continuing even as the academic year progresses, teacher organisations have suggested using trained personnel from other departments or other mechanisms for election work instead of repeatedly drawing teachers away from schools. The concern is not simply about teachers’ workload, but about what happens to students when the people responsible for teaching them are routinely pulled away from the classroom.

Detailed report may be read here.

The Centre’s review makes the picture worse

The Ministry of Education’s Project Approval Board raised similar concerns while examining Maharashtra’s Samagra Shiksha plan for 2026-27. Of 22,416 eligible upper-primary, secondary and higher-secondary schools, 21,009 did not have ICT laboratories. Another 4,286 lacked smart classrooms. Nearly 60 per cent of primary and upper-primary schools had fewer than 30 students each, while 7,186 schools had only one teacher.

The Union also noted that more than 4,300 villages did not have a secondary school within the prescribed distance and more than 6,500 villages lacked access to a higher-secondary school. More than 80 per cent of approved science laboratories had not been completed, while toilets sanctioned for children with special needs remained pending. The teacher vacancy figures were equally concerning; around 17% of secondary teaching posts and 25% of higher-secondary posts were vacant.

The Centre approved ₹2,494.17 crore under Samagra Shiksha for Maharashtra for 2026-27 and directed the state to complete pending infrastructure and digital projects in “mission mode”. The Maharashtra government, for its part, said most sanctioned ICT laboratories were under installation and would be completed by the end of the year.

But this creates an uncomfortable policy contradiction. The government is being asked to modernise schools while it has not yet completed the basics.

Then there is the question of closing schools

Perhaps the most consequential issue is not what is missing from schools, but what happens when the state decides a school is no longer viable. In April 2026, the Maharashtra government issued two Government Resolutions declaring 433 primary schools and 324 secondary schools ineligible for grant-in-aid. The schools were directed to apply under the Maharashtra Self-Financed Schools Act, 2012. If they failed to do so, their recognition could be cancelled, effectively leading to closure. The Bombay High Court intervened.

On April 29, 2026, the Kolhapur Bench held that the government’s action could not proceed against the petitioner schools without giving them an opportunity to be heard. As The Hindu reported on May 19, the court found that the resolutions violated principles of natural justice and directed that the petitioner institutions be removed from the list. Nevertheless, the court’s observations went beyond procedure.

The bench noted that the affected schools were predominantly Marathi-medium institutions, particularly in villages. It pointed out the contradiction in the state’s position: on the one hand, Maharashtra was insisting that Marathi be given greater importance; on the other, the government’s action could result in the closure of Marathi-medium schools.

The judges also asked questions that should have been at the centre of the government’s decision before the resolutions were issued: Could the students actually be accommodated in nearby schools? Would the medium of instruction continue? What would happen in villages where alternative schools were not available? What would happen to teaching and non-teaching staff? Could teachers be absorbed elsewhere? And could poor families be expected to bear the consequences of the shift to self-financed education?

The court concluded that these considerations had not been adequately addressed and directed the state to conduct hearings before taking action. That intervention is crucial because it exposes the danger of treating school closure as a mere question of numbers. A school with fewer students is not automatically a redundant school as it may be the only school within walking distance, or the only affordable school, or the only school teaching in the child’s language. And if it disappears, the state’s responsibility does not disappear with it.

2023: From school closures to “adoption”: A changing model of public education

The debate over low-enrolment schools cannot be separated from another policy shift: the growing role being given to private entities in the management and development of government schools. Maharashtra has increasingly presented private participation as a means of improving infrastructure and educational quality, even as questions remain about why the State is unable to adequately fund and maintain its own public-school system.

In September 2023, the Maharashtra government introduced an “Adopt a School” scheme under the National Education Policy’s Vidyanjali initiative. As reported by the Times of India on September 19, 2023, the scheme allowed private and public sector entities to adopt government schools for five or 10 years. The State proposed making more than 62,000 government schools available for adoption. Corporate entities could use Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) funds for activities ranging from repairs, maintenance and painting to improving sanitation, health, enrolment and the use of technology.

Dalit groups strongly protested this move towards privatisation that would deny access to Dalit, Adivasi and OBC students especially in rural areas.

The financial commitments were substantial yet no audit of the scheme or the implementation have ever been held, nor demanded. According to the government resolution reported by The Times of India, entities adopting schools in “A” and “B” category municipal corporations, including Mumbai and Pune, were required to commit ₹2 crore for five years or ₹3 crore for 10 years. For “C” category municipal corporations, the amounts were ₹1 crore and ₹2 crore respectively, while other schools could be adopted for ₹50 lakh for five years or ₹1 crore for 10 years. The Business Standard, reporting on September 18, 2023, said the funds could be used for school-building repairs, painting, and toilets, infrastructure and sports equipment.

The government insisted that the scheme was not privatisation. In December 2023, then School Education Minister Deepak Kesarkar told the Hindustan Times that a major corporate house had expressed interest in adopting around 5,000 schools and stressed that the objective was to improve infrastructure and amenities, not to privatise schools. The government resolution also permitted an adopting entity to add its name to the existing school name for the duration of the agreement, although the original name was to be retained.

The distinction between “adoption” and privatisation, however, becomes more complicated when viewed alongside the State’s broader education policy. In July 2026, Frontline reported that Maharashtra was expanding public-private partnership models in school education, including the operation of five English-medium schools of the Pune Municipal Corporation through a PPP arrangement. The report said the same organisation that had previously operated the schools using CSR funds was subsequently awarded a contract worth ₹12 crore annually by the Pune civic administration. Frontline also reported concerns over proposals to hand over land reserved for Mumbai municipal schools to private entities under PPP arrangements.

This raises a fundamental question about the direction of public education. If private organisations are initially invited to improve government schools through CSR and are later given contracts to operate schools using public funds, the State’s role can gradually shift from being the primary provider of education to financing or facilitating private participation in its delivery. The issue is therefore not simply whether private money can improve a school building. It is who ultimately controls public educational assets, who determines priorities and whether access to education remains governed primarily by public obligations rather than the interests or capacities of private partners.

The question becomes particularly important in the context of Maharashtra’s low-enrolment and cluster-school policies. In September 2023, Mid-Day reported that the State had identified 14,783 schools with 20 or fewer students for consolidation into cluster schools. The proposed restructuring was expected to affect 1,85,467 students and 29,707 teachers. The government argued that very small schools could not provide adequate infrastructure, qualified teachers or opportunities for social interaction, and pointed to successful cluster models in Panshet and Toranmal.

Teachers and education activists, however, warned that consolidation could push students to travel longer distances and increase the risk of dropouts, particularly in rural and remote areas. Their concern was especially significant for young children, girls and students from economically weaker families for whom daily travel to a distant school may itself become a barrier to attendance.

The State subsequently sought to reassure critics. In July 2025, Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde told the Maharashtra legislature, as reported by ET Education, that schools would not be closed merely because of low enrolment. He said the government would make adjustments to ensure that such schools continued functioning and that teachers would be redeployed only after appropriate adjustments were made. Yet the same report noted that around 18,000 schools had fewer than 20 students.

The policy trajectory therefore remains difficult to reconcile. On one side, the government says low-enrolment schools will not be shut and that every child must continue to have access to education. On the other, cluster models, school consolidation and private participation are being promoted as solutions to the perceived financial and infrastructural limitations of the existing public-school network.

The issue is not that private participation is inherently harmful, nor that every small school must necessarily remain open regardless of circumstances. The concern is whether the State is addressing the reasons behind low enrolment and poor infrastructure before declaring a school inefficient, relocating its students or inviting private entities to take over functions that should ordinarily be part of public educational provision.

A government school is not merely a building that can be repaired through CSR funding or managed through a contractual arrangement. It is part of the public infrastructure through which the State fulfils its constitutional obligation to provide education. When schools are under-resourced, the answer cannot automatically be to reduce the State’s responsibility by transferring greater functions to private actors. The more important question is whether Maharashtra is investing sufficiently in making its public schools viable before concluding that they need to be consolidated, adopted or operated through PPP models.

Marathi schools: Declining enrolment or a policy-created cycle?

The decline of Marathi-medium education in Maharashtra is particularly troubling because it cannot simply be reduced to a story of parents “choosing English”. The numbers in Mumbai are stark. According to BMC data cited by ThePrint on July 24, 2025, the number of Marathi-medium schools in Mumbai fell from 460 in 2019-20 to 421 in 2025-26 — a loss of 39 schools. Around 50,000 students had moved elsewhere from the 2019-20 academic session onwards.

The longer-term numbers are even more striking. Mid-Day, reporting on May 4, 2025, said Mumbai had 413 Marathi-medium schools in 2010-11, 368 in 2014-15 and only 262 by 2023-24. That is not a temporary fluctuation, but rather a sustained decline.

The government has attributed the decline largely to parental preference for English-medium education. Parents do indeed have reasons to make that choice. English is widely perceived as providing better access to higher education, employment and social mobility. But educators and activists argue that parents are also responding to the relative quality and visibility of the schools being offered to them. As ThePrint reported in July 2025, educators pointed to inadequate infrastructure in Marathi-medium schools and alleged that English-medium institutions received greater preference when it came to development.

Deepak Pawar of the School Education Action Coordination Committee argued that Marathi-medium schools should be upgraded without changing their medium to English. Teachers cited in the report similarly described a communication gap with middle-class families and said some Marathi-medium schools had modern facilities such as Atal Tinkering Labs and robotics labs, but that efforts to publicise and develop these came only after enrolment had already begun to collapse. The important point here is thus, if the state allows a school to deteriorate, then points to falling enrolment as evidence that the school is no longer viable, it risks creating a self-fulfilling cycle. One cannot ignore the vicious cycle of how poor infrastructure erodes parental confidence, leading to declining enrolment, reduced allocation of teachers and resources, and a further deterioration of schools, creating a cycle that ultimately pushes schools towards closure. The final closure can then be presented as the inevitable consequence of “parental preference”. But inevitability is not the same as neutrality.

The fate of one of Mumbai’s oldest Marathi schools

The uncertainty surrounding Dadar’s Nabar Guruji Vidyalaya brought this crisis into sharp relief. In May 2025, Mid-Day reported that the Marathi-medium school, which dates back to the 1940s, was facing an uncertain future amid falling admissions. Thirty-five students had appeared for its SSC examination that year, but only 17 students remained in Classes 9 and 10 for the new academic year. The management clarified that it had not decided to close the school.

Trustee Satish Rama Nayak said the institution remained financially capable of functioning because it offered free education and teachers’ salaries were supported through government grants. The difficulty was the collapse in enrolment and its impact on the teacher-student ratio. Nayak also described a social transformation.

Parents who had themselves studied in Marathi-medium schools were increasingly choosing English-medium or CBSE schools for their children, sometimes even taking loans to pay for them. That is the other side of the story. It would be too simplistic to blame the government for every parent who chooses English. But it is equally simplistic to blame parents for the disappearance of Marathi-medium schools without asking why government and aided Marathi schools have not been made equally attractive, well-equipped and aspirational.

As Sushil Shejule of the Marathi Abhyas Kendra told ThePrint, the decline had been visible for years and, despite the availability of data, neither governments nor political parties had taken meaningful action.

The irony of Marathi’s “classical language” status

In October 2024, Marathi received classical-language status from the Union government. Maharashtra has also repeatedly asserted the importance of Marathi in public life and education. The Maharashtra Compulsory Teaching and Learning of Marathi Language in Schools Act, 2020 made Marathi compulsory in schools across the state, including CBSE and ICSE schools. Yet the institutions that actually provide education through Marathi continue to shrink.

The Mid-Day report of May 2025 placed the decline against precisely this backdrop: Marathi had acquired classical-language status, but one of Mumbai’s oldest Marathi-medium schools was struggling with falling admissions. The contradiction was also noticed by the Bombay High Court in its April 2026 intervention.

The state cannot convincingly claim to protect Marathi while allowing the network of Marathi-medium schools, particularly those serving poorer and rural families, to become increasingly fragile. Protecting a language is not merely about official resolutions, signboards or declarations. It also means ensuring that a child who wants, or needs, to study in that language has a functioning school in which to do so.

Mumbai’s municipal schools: when “repair” means displacement

The infrastructure problem becomes even more complicated when schools are declared unsafe and children are moved elsewhere. In December 2025, Outlook reported on the closure and relocation of Mumbai municipal schools, including New Mahim Municipal School. Students were shifted from August 2025 to another municipal school operating from a few rooms on the first floor of a residential building.

According to the report, the replacement premises lacked a playground, proper drinking-water facilities and adequately supplied toilets. The concern raised by parents and activists was not that unsafe buildings should continue to operate. A genuinely dangerous school building cannot be defended in the name of access to education. The concern was about what children were being offered after their school was shut.

When a school has to close because its building is unsafe, the replacement should provide an equivalent educational environment. It should be sufficiently close to the children’s homes, have adequate classrooms, functional toilets and drinking-water facilities, and provide children with access to a playground. Parents and children should also have a say in decisions that directly affect their education. For Marathi-medium schools, relocation should not result in the loss of the medium of instruction. These are not peripheral concerns. They determine whether a “relocation” actually amounts to continued and meaningful access to education.

When official records themselves threaten to erase students

Another warning emerged in January 2026. On January 10, ETV Bharat reported discrepancies between Aadhaar-linked records and UDISE Plus data that had left thousands of students classified as “invalid”, “not provided”, “under verification” or “out of school”. The report said that of 2,14,68,288 students registered in the relevant Maharashtra UDISE Plus data, 5,78,433 were listed with invalid Aadhaar details and 4,98,759 had not provided Aadhaar details. Another 69,688 were shown as out of school. Educationists warned that such discrepancies could have consequences for school enrolment figures and, consequently, teacher deployment and funding. The concern was particularly acute for Marathi-medium schools.

Rajan Mahadeshwar, principal of Govandi’s Jagruti Vidyamandir, told ETV Bharat that his school had 430 students actually registered, while the UDISE system showed only 380 because 50 were marked invalid or pending verification. He feared that an artificially reduced enrolment could eventually affect the school’s viability. Officials disputed the extent of the danger.

Divisional Deputy Director Rajesh Kankal said only around five per cent of students in numerous schools did not have Aadhaar updated and said he did not expect grant-in-aid schools to face major problems. Yet the larger policy concern remains valid: when funding, staffing and school viability are increasingly linked to enrolment data, the accuracy of that data becomes an educational rights issue. A child should not become statistically invisible because a database has failed to correctly reflect their presence in a classroom.

The state is promising a transformation

The government has not remained silent. On August 22, 2026, Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde held a detailed review meeting with School Education Minister Dada Bhuse and senior officials. As Deccan Herald reported on August 23, Shinde directed the Education Department to prepare a clear, comprehensive and time-bound action plan to modernise schools and bring about “real, visible and qualitative improvements”.

The proposed plan includes teacher training, capacity building, greater involvement of education experts and experienced teachers, health check-ups, nutrition, a review of the Mid-Day Meal Scheme and attention to students’ mental and emotional well-being. The state has also expanded digital education initiatives. Digital Learning reported on August 4 that the Vinoba Digital Education platform had been expanded to 45,000 government schools across 25 districts, reaching more than 31 lakh students and nearly 1.3 lakh teachers.

These initiatives may be useful. However, the timing of the government’s August review is telling. It came after weeks in which government-school conditions had repeatedly been placed in the public eye — including through the “School Thik Karo” campaign launched in Maharashtra by Cockroach Janta Party convenor Abhijeet Dipke.

On August 15, Telangana Today reported that Dipke had launched the campaign in Hingoli after inspecting a Zilla Parishad school where he alleged that toilets lacked water, windows were broken and students lacked adequate benches. He said the campaign would document basic facilities in government schools across Maharashtra. The campaign itself is not a substitute for institutional inspection or government monitoring. Its allegations must therefore be independently verified before being treated as established facts.

But its very existence points to a troubling question: Why are political and citizen campaigns increasingly having to inspect schools to make basic educational infrastructure visible?

When will policy on public education, access and representation actually be formulated with the stakeholders? Who are the stakeholders? They are communities that demand education for the young, the most marginalised and teachers who form the other crucial arc. All the policies hurriedly formulated are however top heavy and solely the creation of bureaucrats and politicians, often concealing blatant private interests.

This is not democracy but public policy turned on its head.

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I am Malala: I believe in education! As a little girl, I loved to go to school. Life dramatically changed for the worse when the Taliban took control of my hometown in the Swat Valley. They banned many things, including television and playing music. Those who defied their orders were given severe penalties. They did not allow the girls to go to school. Sadly, I had to leave my friends in 2009 when I was just eleven years old. At that age, I became an activist. I spoke out publicly on behalf of girls and their right to learn and began blogging about my experiences for BBC Urdu. In a speech which was widely covered by the media, I said, “How dare the Taliban take away my basic right to education?” Yes, we must communicate; we must tell our stories loudly and clearly!

I am Malala: The Taliban, of course, did not like what I was doing. All fundamentalists have the same DNA; just look around you from the Ku Klux Klan in the US, to the Lehava in Israel, to the Hindutvadis. They are all the same! They feel threatened when someone stands up to them and is able to expose their heinous crimes. On that fateful day (9 October 2012), a masked Taliban gunman boarded my school bus whilst I was on my way home after writing my exam. He asked, “Who is Malala?” Recognising me, he shot me on the left side of my head. I woke up ten days later in a hospital in Birmingham, England. I was just fifteen then. My world had changed! My life given a second chanced I vowed never to look back!

I am Malala: Of the book ‘I Am Malala: The Story of the Girl Who Stood Up for Education and was Shot by the Taliban’. It is the story of my life, from the time I was born till I was shot by the Taliban. It was co-written with Christina Lamb. Published on 8 October 2013, it became a bestseller all over the world. Though I know that it was banned in some places. The book has plenty of my own thoughts and insights.

I am Malala: So you can imagine my dismay when a prestigious school in Ahmedabad withdrew from its selection of additional reading, my book. ‘I Am Malala: The Story of the Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban’ together with the much-celebrated book ‘The Diary of a Young Girl’ by Anne Frank. It is certainly within the right of any school to prescribe the books for their children. The sad part about this case is that the books had to be withdrawn after orders from the educational authorities and a fine imposed on the school. Imagine to what a rotten state education has fallen. It is not about ‘my’ book; but the fact is that the students are deprived at an early age of experiencing pluralism in thought. Ironically, it will be the parents of these children who will be desperate to send their children abroad for higher education.

I am Malala: It is heartening to note that a civil society group comprising more than 150 citizens from Gujarat and elsewhere issued a strong statement condemning the withdrawal of these two books and demanded that there should be no external interference in providing the students with the much-needed holistic education. The statement said, “We believe that both these books remain very important and timely resources for students to access. Yousafzai’s memoir recounts her fight for women’s, children’s and girls’ education rights in Pakistan, while Anne Frank’s diary stands as a historically significant personal account of life under Nazi occupation and the Holocaust”.

I am Malala: The Student and Youth Collective Ahmedabad must be applauded and appreciated for organising in Ahmedabad on 27 August ‘A Silent Reading Session’ in a public park. The young organisers made a very meaningful poster for the event which said, ‘Ban the Censorship, Not the Books’, and adding ‘for education free from fear, interference and conformity.’ Several (mainly students and other youth) participated in this unique protest. They read books that mattered, demonstrating to others the significance of these books and why they must be popularised in today’s India. The power of the youth was simply amazing!

I am Malala: Then the goons of the Hindutva brigade came in! There are striking similarities between them and the Taliban. They were shouting and yelling, not willing to listen. Of course, their levels of comprehension are below average. They came armed with sticks and hockey sticks. They beat some innocent citizens. They were able to prove just one thing: they were fascist thugs determined to destroy the idea of a pluralistic and secular India.

I am Malala: The attack has naturally been condemned by all except by their mentors. The Peoples Union for Civil Liberties (Gujarat) has issued a strong, unequivocal and detailed statement on this assault on democracy. The statement concludes, “The right to sit in a public garden and read a book is sacrosanct. People were hospitalized women were assaulted, and a young woman was threatened with disappearance for filming a crime. This did not happen because anyone at the reading broke the law, but because of the books in their hands and the religion the mob suspected they belonged to. A national anthem sung to calm a mob was answered with more violence, not less. PUCL Gujarat will closely monitor this case and expects the police to correct the record before this diluted version of events hardens into the official history.”

I am Malala: Because I am ME – I have dared to take on the fascist, fundamentalist, fanatic, feudalistic forces that tried to prevent my growth as a person! They did their best to put fear in me and in the lives of others! I fearlessly took them on! Today I tell them in no uncertain terms that I believe in freedom, justice and truth! I am not afraid to stand up to them. There is nothing that confines me! The world is my home. I have dignity, I have freedom!  I am inclusive and believe in the equality of all! We are all created in the image and likeness of God; we are all his children. I am yesterday, today and tomorrow. Remember, I will always live!

I AM MALALA:  but NOT the Malala you think I am. No, not the Malala who is a Pakistani or a Muslim. Though she is truly my inspiration and for millions of others too. I am Indian! I believe in the idea of India. I am the youth of India: The Gen Z and even the Gen Alpha. I am neither a coward nor violent. I do not hate; but yes, there is an honest rage in my heart and mind. Too much has been happening, and I am being throttled and excluded. You call me what you want: ‘cockroach’, ‘Dimagi Naxal’, ‘tukde tukde gang’, whatever. I am not afraid. You have destroyed our beloved nation with your corruption, communalism, casteism and crony capitalism. You have kept dividing, denigrating, discriminating, demonising us. I say ‘enough is enough’. Your time is up! I believe in the values enshrined in the Constitution: justice, liberty, equality, fraternity; unity, diversity, the rights and freedoms guaranteed to all! We will not stop! With the millions who are with me, I am convinced that ‘we shall overcome’! Satyameva Jayate!

August 29, 2026

(The author is a human rights, reconciliation and peace activist, writer & trainer.)

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The post I AM MALALA! Afghanistan or Ahmedabad why are fundamentalists wary of the right to education? appeared first on SabrangIndia.

In this conversation, activist and journalist Teesta Setalvad speaks with Rhiya Ahir, whose act of standing in front of a police van carrying detained protesters during the July 2026 student protests became one of the defining images of the movement.

Rhiya reflects on what compelled her to step forward, where courage comes from and why fear cannot become a reason for citizens to remain silent. Teesta speaks about the resolve it takes to stand up to power in difficult times.

The post ‘We Cannot Be Afraid’: Rhiya Ahir in Conversation with Teesta Setalvad appeared first on SabrangIndia.