Author: Riddhi Shah
Publication: Hindustan Times
Date: September 2, 2007
Introduction: A Bunch Of Do-Gooders Who Dispel
The Stereotype Of The Corrupt Government Official
When Prashant Salunkhe, 37, was promoted to
the position of clerk (he used to be a peon) at the University of Mumbai,
his first reaction wasn't that of excitement. Instead, he was worried if he'd
still be able to make it for the Lanja Rajapur Sanghameswhar Taluka Utkarsh
Mandal's annual excursion to Ratnagirihe had to report for his new job right
in the middle of the trip. Eventually, Salunkhe managed to do both: he went
to Ratnagiri, but cut the trip short to return to Mumbai and then rejoined
the mandal for the remainder of the fortnight.
It's a surprising level of commitment by any
standards, made even more surprising by the knowledge that the mandal isn't
some sort of social networking club, given to organising activity-filled holidays
in different parts of Maharashtra. It is a reg istered NGO, comprising mainly
of government clerks who collect funds for the 100-odd schools around Ratnagiri.
They then spend two weeks of precious leave-time every year, crisscrossing
through remote hamlets, towns and villages, distributing supplies bought with
the money.
"It all began during a holiday to my
village in the Rajapur area when I met a seventh grade student who stood first
in the entire taluka. He was planning to quit school because he needed to
go back to the tea stall where his family worked. They didn't even have a
proper home," says 56year-old Madhukar Pawar, a clerk at Nair Hospital
and General Secretary of the organisation.
Thus, 17 years ago, the mandal was born, and
all it had to show by way of funds was a small amount Pawar had borrowed from
friends. This year, the 60-member group collected an impressive Rs 14 lakh.
Their modus operandi is simple: place an advertisement
in local newspapers asking schools to send in their requirements, stay away
from politicians trying to get mileage out of the cause, and raise funds from
the city's famously indifferent middle-class.
But what really sets the group apart from other NGOs in the state is the earnestness
of their efforts - an attribute they put down to the fact that most of the
members grew up in the very same schools that the mandal visits today.
"We've also studied in village schools.
We know how bad it gets," says 55-year-old Vilas Sawant, a valu ation
officer with the Bombay Port Trust. Sawant went back to his old school to
distribute uniform material and science textbooks only two years ago - an
experience he says he has no words to describe.
Their earnestness comes through in other ways
too - when one hears of how group members scour wholesale markets for the
best value deals on uniform material and then cut it into squares themselves.
Or when Pawar narrates an incident in which a donor fell through at the last
minute and he had to convince his wife to sell off her jewellery (finally,
a friend put in the money). And when the group talks of the time they waded
through rivers and walked several kilometre to get to a school without power.
"We've even battled floods and bro ken cars. The children are expecting
us, and we just can't bear to break their hearts," says Pawar. "It's
like the Pandharpur yatra; you just have to do it every year," pipes
in Namdeo Dalvi, a 63-year-old income tax clerk.
Mandal members say that their biggest rewards
aren't the press publicity or the compliments about their altruism, but the
success stories of children who've made it big. Take the case of Nanda Bapu
Gorule, a student from Lanja who stood first in the Secondary School Certificate
(SSC) examination in the taluka. The organisation offered to pay for the rest
of her education; today she works as an engineer in the Ratnagiri zilla parishad.
"We try to offer more help to girl students. Our adoption forms also
don't ask for religion or caste," points out Pawar.
As I'm leaving, Pawar and Co make me promise
to join them on their next jaunt; I'm non-committal, but as I look around
and catch sight of the ragtag bunch of unassuming bureaucrats, chattering
away excitedly in the fading evening light, my faith in the city's much-maligned
administration is renewed, even if only for a brief moment.
riddhi.shah@hindustantimes.com
