India: Education for All ?

Today in Govindpuri, an urban slum nestled among the wealthy residential neighbourhoods of south Delhi, twelve-year-old Sadam sits naked in a plastic chair. He has spent most of his life here, trapped within the blue walls of this two-room shack, a cramped and windowless house that he shares with his mother, father and nine brothers and sisters.

Sadam was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy when he was five years old. 'Then there was hope' says his mother, Nazma who was told there was a chance that her son would walk and could 'do something with his life'. But with a family of twelve living on less than £4 a day Nazma could not access the support and education that her son needed and hope quickly faded.

Seventy percent of disabled children in Delhi have never even been to a rehab centre. Sadam is one of the luckier ones. On diagnosis he was referred to Astha, an NGO that provides outreach support to disabled children in Govindpuri. Outreach care-worker Seema Gurung has been visiting his home for seven years. Before working with Astha Sadam lay prostrate all day, now he has had an operation on his back and therapy that has given him increased muscle-control and the ability to sit. Those who have worked with him acknowledge Sadam's potential for much more. With their support, Nazma has lobbied a local school to enrol her son, demanding the educational support he needs to become part of the community.

In 2005 the Government of India declared that every child from 6-14 has the right to 'Free and Compulsory Education'. In August 2009 that right was enshrined in the constitution. To implement the act the government runs a scheme called Savva Shiksha Abhiyan (SSA), 'Education for All'. The initiative is working to ensure the inclusion of every child in formalised schooling. SSA is partly funded by the World Bank, EU and DfID and is working to prepare the education system to accept any child regardless of gender, income, caste or disability. SSA is pushing for a more inclusive child-centred curriculum that breaks away from the blackboard and textbook tradition of Indian schools. It provides 3,000 Rupees (£44) per child per year for support services and advocates a 'zero rejection policy'.

But the reality of inclusion is light-years away for families like Sadam's. Many factors complicate the problem for India's poorest. When Nazma approached her local school the principle told her that if Sadam were to attend she would have to sit with him all day. With nine other children to look after this is impossible. Several teachers asked, 'what is the point of bringing Sadam to school? He will just sit here'. The idea that he has the potential to learn and contribute is alien to this society.

The problem also lies deeper within the community. In the beginning Sadam's father brought him to the Astha centre every day. After a week he could communicate with his carers and was learning quickly. But soon after he stopped showing up. When questioned on this Nazma gestures to her back, too weak to carry a twelve-year-old boy half a mile to the centre. His father has fallen victim to drug abuse, which is rife in Govindpuri and he no longer helps. Like many parents of the disabled in India, Nazma finds it easier to keep her son within the safe and loving confines of her home. 'People don't like my family because of my son', she says and repeats the word 'nafrat'-hatred. Social stigmas label families of the disabled unlucky and isolate them, making it hard for siblings to work and to marry within the community.

This is why Education for All is so important for India. 'Where do you see the disabled child?' asks Poonam Natarajan, head of the National Trust, a government body that promotes the rights of the mentally disabled. 'Do you see them in the park, in the public schools? No. That is where the stigma lies. Nobody knows how to deal with them, how to work with them, how to be friends with them.' In 1985 Poonam started Vidya Sagar, an education centre for children and adults with special needs in Chennai, southern India. Vidya Sagar now works with 1,500 children with disabilities all over the city. She is convinced that mainstream education is possible for all.

On an adjacent block to Sadam lives Mohan, an eleven-year-old boy who is more than duly excited about starting school this year. Mohan was diagnosed with unspecific mental disability when he was five and has been working with different NGO's for the past four years. Now he goes to an informal NGO-run education centre in the slum. He has learnt to read and write in preparation for his next year at government school. His father is very proud. 'I have worked very hard to achieve this and now because of Astha my son is going to school'.

However, putting mentally disabled children in mainstream schools is a divisive issue even within a disability sector that, for the most part, works together. Merry Barua is founder of Action for Autism an NGO that works with 25,000 people in Delhi. She is worried about the effect of compulsory education. She believes it encourages special needs schools- that don't follow a recognised curriculum- to close down, pushing children with high support needs back into the isolation of their homes.

Attitudes on inclusion also vary geographically. Some of the southern states like Tamil Nadu, where Chennai is, have achieved much greater strides in inclusive education claiming 98 percent enrolment. Complicated issues arise in each state but in the poorer south more progressive government and stronger civil-state partnerships have increased the efficacy of NGO's working with disability.

The rebirth in India's primary education system will drive development forward. The battle against exclusion of disabled children must be achieved as part of this movement and facilities for educating children with severe disabilities must be an intrinsic part of the system from the beginning. India has to avoid leaving children like Sadam behind and it has far to go.

Last week, two government officials visited Govindpuri to survey the neighbourhood. The slum is to be demolished to prepare Delhi for the Commonwealth Games in September. After living here for nineteen years the family will be forced out to Nazma's village eighteen hours from Delhi. In rural areas less than 1% of disabled children are enrolled in schools.

'How will Sadam access support there?' asks Seema. Nazma shrugs helplessly, 'I don't know.'

This feature was written between 6 March and 30 April 2010 as part of the Guardian International Development Journalism Competition