4 teens go the extra mile to fulfil SSC dream

There is a reason the children of Fulorepada and Pisepada — situated around 22 km east of Bhiwandi in Thane district — drop out of school after Class 7: Autorickshaw fares. The nearest school from two of Maharashtra’s most backward tribal villages is more than eight kilometres away at Padgha, and the only way to reach that educational institution is an autorickshaw.

There is a reason the children of Fulorepada and Pisepada — situated around 22 km east of Bhiwandi in Thane district — drop out of school after Class 7: Autorickshaw fares.

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The nearest school from two of Maharashtra’s most backward tribal villages is more than eight kilometres away at Padgha, and the only way to reach that educational institution is an autorickshaw. The cost? ₹20 per person. One way. In a place where the average income barely manages to make a family’s ends meet, ₹40 per day is a steep price to pay for education.

Sakharam Katkari, a brick kiln worker, earns around ₹1,000 per week, and much of that income goes in sustaining a family of seven — he and wife have four daughters and a son. One of his daughters, though, made history this past week. Dipali and three other teenagers became the first students from these two villages to appear for the career-defining Secondary School Certificate (SSC) exams.

Ravi Mali, Pooja Waghe and Avinash Waghe — all 15, like Dipali — are the other three. Ravi’s father Tukaram, a small-time fisherman, says his son wants to become a cop. “It’s been tough for us to continue his education. But he wants to be a policeman, so let’s see how it goes,” he says.

The four students belong to the Katkari community, a vulnerable scheduled tribe with less than three lakh members spread across the 35 districts of Maharashtra, according to the 2011 Census. There are Katkaris in Gujarat, Rajasthan and Karnataka, too, but the numbers are negligible.

Both Fulorepada and Pisepada have zilla parishad schools up to Class 4. To study up to Class 7, children have to go to the neighbouring Chiradpada. Here’s where it gets tricky. With autorickshaw fares being what they are (“I will have to give up my entire income to afford the transport,” Katkari says), most families opt out of schooling as they just cannot afford the ride to Padgha. The girls that drop out of school, locals say, end up helping their mothers with household chores and get married by the time they are 18. “Child marriage is the norm here,” a villager told HT. “The boys, on the other hand, help their fathers in the family vocation or move out in search of a job.”

However, some things changed in 2015, when a Mumbai-based organisation stepped in to support these four children. “Children had to drop out due to socio-economic reasons and because the school was just too far,” says Aniket Salvi, a Vile Parle-based political science teacher, who founded Rajani Foundation India the same year, along with like-minded college friends.

“A few volunteers from our foundation would come here (the two villages) every Sunday to teach these students so that they do not lag behind.” Soon, the foundation decided to support 100 children from the two villages.

This meant that Pooja, Dipali, Ravi and Avinash could continue their education. The first three enrolled at Sharda Vidyalay, Padgha, while Avinash is a student of New English School, Aamne, around 4 km from Fulorepada.

For the villagers, the absence of a senior secondary school is just one of those things they have come to accept. “Children want to study and parents too want to educate them, but what option do we have,” says Gulab Katkari, the sarpanch of Pisepada. “For girls, travelling far on foot is a risk no family wants to take. Parents would rather let their daughters drop out of school and start working to add to the family income,” she says.

Pooja Waghe, who lives in Pisepada with her parents and two siblings, says children who go to school have to often juggle between work and studies. “My father is a plumber and travels to Padgha every day. I help my mother at home and also have to be on the farm to work. Whatever time is left, I study.”

On days when there is no transport, the children have to spend close to two hours to reach their school.

Salvi, now 28, says convincing parents to keep their children, especially girls, in school is a herculean task. “Girls often get married early in these communities, and sending them to school is seen as a burden,” he says. Avinash Waghe’s sister Komal, for instance, dropped out in 2017 while in Class 9 after their mother died of cancer. “My sister had to stay at home because there was no one to cook meals and take care of the house,” Avinash says. “We tell her to go back to school, but she seems to have lost interest.”

Komal is not alone. Laxman Karve, principal of the Chiradpada ZP School, says student chronic absenteeism is a problem.

“Children are not serious about school, and both parents and the faculty struggle to get them to attend every day. Once their parents go to work, there is no one to monitor them. This is another reason for the high dropout rate.”

It is a minor miracle, therefore, that these four children have survived all kinds of odds to give the SSC exams that began on March 3.

It is not just about the physical barriers of distance and public transport; it is also about the prevailing socio-cultural norms.

“I like to study,” says Dipali, “but we have a small house and there is hardly any space to sit peacefully and concentrate.” She points to a makeshift swing tied to a tree and says she sits there all day to try and study as much as she can.

While she is doing that, her father Sakharam climbs atop a small raft made of packaging material and makes his way to work on the other side of the Basta River. Lunch time is over, and he has to go back to earning money for his family.