How Gujarat anganwadi centres are failing children

PATAN & SABARKANTHA, GUJARAT

 

On a weekday afternoon, the anganwadi centre in Rozu village in Gujarat’s Patan district is locked. A recent downpour has left the path slushy, and a large pool of stagnant water hugs the edge of the compound. Perched casually on the boundary walls are a group of men smoking bidi, playing cards and chatting. Not a child is in sight.

 

The structure looks like it is on the verge of collapse. Its roof is covered with tarpaulin sheets, the walls cracked and leaking, and right next to it lies a ruined structure that once functioned as the government’s original anganwadi.

 

Moments later, Shilpaben Solanki, an anganwadi helper (AWH), and her senior Manjulaben Gauswami, an anganwadi worker (AWW), arrive with keys. “There are no kids today, which is why the centre was locked,” said Solanki, who is in her 30s. Both women speak reluctantly through their sari pallu, lifting it only when coaxed. Inside is a single large room with gunny bags of grains, a dusty cupboard, a table and a water dispenser. Except for a lone plastic slide, nothing indicates that this is a space for early childhood care and learning. The cupboard has medicines, syringes, first aid and drawing books neatly stacked up, but the women say they remain unused.

 

Recently, children had come for immunisation, but that was an exception. “Parents don’t allow their children to stay for meals,” said Gauswami. “They collect take-home rations and vaccines, but that’s it.”

 

The reason? Solanki is a dalit, and caste discrimination continues to dictate who can touch whom―even in spaces meant for public service.

 

“Upper-caste parents refuse to let me feed or serve water to their kids. But I won’t quit,” said Solanki, quietly but firmly. “Why should I? I have done nothing wrong. I serve these children with full dedication. People’s mindset needs to change. But nobody objects. Even the sarpanch says I can’t do anything.” Her husband, holding their six-month-old son (they have a seven-year-old daughter as well), nodded in support. “We won’t bow to pressure. She is doing her job,” he said.

 

While an AWW earns Rs10,000 a month, an AWH makes Rs5,500. Solanki has studied till class eight, and Gauswami till class 10. “I can understand a little bit of English,” said Solanki. “There is so much we can offer these kids, but that is only possible if they stay. They hardly come.”

 

The two women told THE WEEK that there are 80 children below six years of age and 20 aged between three and six in their area. However, only a fraction turns up most days. THE WEEK accessed the attendance register and found that only eight to 13 children had visited the anganwadi in five days.

 

When THE WEEK visited upper-caste households in Rozu, several acknowledged that their children were skipping anganwadi and instead accompanying parents to the fields or simply staying home. Ranabhai Koli, a retired government employee, agreed that anganwadis were important but avoided explaining why his grandchildren, all under six, had stopped attending since last year, which was when Solanki joined as an AWH. His wife, Gallolben, however, said, “One child vomited after eating there, so we stopped sending them.” Solanki retorted, “That’s just an excuse. They won’t let me touch the food their children eat.”

 

Gauswami admitted that caste discrimination was an issue and that she had tried raising it with the supervisor, but no action was taken. When THE WEEK approached child development project officer (CDPO) Subhashree Sahu of Varahi, she said, “It is only now that we are learning about this. Nobody, including the supervisor or the anganwadi workers, told us about this. It is serious and we will hold a meeting at the earliest to look into this issue.”

 

In April 2024, the Comptroller and Auditor General (CAG) came out with its report on Gujarat’s Integrated Child Development Services (ICDS) programme―the Union government’s flagship scheme providing nutritional meals, preschool education, primary health care, immunisation, health checkups and referrals to children below six years and pregnant and lactating mothers and adolescent girls aged 11 to 18 years. The report exposed severe failures in coverage, infrastructure and delivery. The report stated that as per the 2011 Census, 77.77 lakh children below six years should have been enrolled between 2015 and 2023, but only 40.34 lakh were enrolled. Moreover, the audit reported a shortage of 16,045 anganwadi centres (AWCs) in the state. Of the total 53,029 anganwadi centres, 8,452 were operating from crumbling buildings; 1,299 had no toilets; and 1,032 lacked drinking water facilities. Also, 33.96 per cent of AWHs and 29.3 per cent of AWWs had not received refresher training.

 

In the tribal hamlet of Golwada in Sabarkantha district, the AWC is a 10ftx12ft room. “We cannot accommodate more than 20 children,” said Surekha Begadiya, a volunteer. “There is no toilet, no space to move, and no outdoor play area.” There are more than 80 eligible children in the area, but there is no capacity―and no plans for expansion. “We hold our pee all day, and avoid drinking water,” added Begadia. “None of the centres in our block has toilets.” Growth charts and weighing machines lie unused in a dusty cupboard. “Children defecate in the open,” said Begadiya. “What else can we do?”

 

In these tribal belts, safety is another barrier. A busy highway separates the hamlets from the anganwadi. Frequent accidents involving children and even deaths have been a deterrent for parents. “Just in the last three months, two children have died in road accidents,” said Nagesh Chauhan of Janpath Trust, which works to provide supplementary nutrition to children who remain outside of anganwadi centres.

 

In the Das area in Golwada―home to the Bhil tribe―entire households have been left out of the ICDS net. One such home belongs to Geetaben Parmar and her widowed daughter-in-law Meeraben. Meeraben’s three children, all under six, have never been enrolled in an anganwadi. “No anganwadi worker has ever come here,” says Geetaben. “Our children are invisible. During vaccinations, they somehow reach us. But for daily food and care, nobody comes.”

 

Janpath volunteers tried setting up a community kitchen once, but the women volunteers were harassed by drunk men from the area. Since then, no one volunteers any more, rued Chauhan.

 

Movetpura village’s anganwadi kendra 1 opens just once a month for immunisations. Passersby confirmed this was routine. THE WEEK, on its visit, found the anganwadi shut. The situation was a tad better in the village’s anganwadi kendra 2, where a number of children, with steel bowls in hand, gathered for the afternoon meal. After a wait of about 15 minutes, dry moong dal arrived in a kadhai (cooking pot), and within five minutes it was served to around 18 children, all under six. They had all come by themselves, dressed in tatters, unmindful of bath, brush or footwear. The AWW was the only one managing the centre, assisted by a Janpath volunteer.

 

In Kharaniya village in Sabarkantha district, the AWC was demolished two years ago, to build a school. It now operates out of the house of the AWW’s brother-in-law. On the day THE WEEK visited, around 15 barefoot tribal children gathered with steel bowls, waiting for their first meal―around noon. Krisha Prajapati, a nurse volunteering there, said, “Because you are here, they are serving khichdi and buttermilk. On most days, it is just one dry item.” A tarpaulin sheet on a hillock serves as classroom, kitchen and dining area. There is no water dispenser here, and no handwashing station either. Nobody even mentions a toilet because that is a luxury here, said Prajapati. The AWW was away, attending a meeting after a colleague from a nearby village died by suicide. “Nobody will raise their voice,” said Prajapati. “I will get an earful just for talking to you.” (And, she did later, from Arunaben Dabhi, the AWW.) Mediben, the AWH, added cautiously, “There is no training. I just cook. What else do the kids want but food?”

 

Further uphill live Righa and Alkesh Parghi, an educated couple expecting their first child. “Pregnant women are supposed to get meals, checkups, dry fruits. But I got just one packet of powder,” said Righa. Added Alkesh, “Arunaben lets her husband control everything. Because we are from a lower caste, they treat us like dirt.” Complaining isn’t an option. “The sarpanch is her brother-in-law. It is all in the family,” said Alkesh.

 

Dabhi, however, refuted the allegations, saying, “If I tell a pregnant lady to come to the anganwadi for food at 12pm, she would say she has work in the fields and is not sitting idle for her to just come over. I provide packaged food as and when we get them. Sometimes, there is a delay of 60 to 90 days. At such times, what can we do? We try to prepare meals twice every day for kids. Villagers are lying when they say that food is prepared only once. We are not respected in the village. Villagers think we are corrupt and that is why there is no motivation to do good work.” She added that the makeshift anganwadi was dilapidated and had leakage issues, which is why she moved the children to her brother-in-law’s house.

 

Supervisor Sumitraben, who oversees five to six AWCs in the area, said she was unaware of the issues plaguing the anganwadi in Kharaniya. “We mandate two hot meals daily and regular checkups. I will look into the discrepancies,” she said.

 

Kharaniya anganwadi exists on paper, not on ground. Its construction, despite budgetary approval, is yet to begin. “It is underway,” said CDPO Jalpaben Pandya. “New designs are being proposed. That is why it is delayed. Things don’t happen so fast. We will make sure it is constructed in due course of time.”

 

In Rajusara village in Patan district, the anganwadi runs from a dilapidated room inside the AWW’s house. There is no electricity, water, utensils or toys. Sheikh, a patriarch of a large household, dismisses the centre. “They want to vaccinate children and make them sick. That’s why we don’t send our kids there.” Nearby, his daughter-in-law Shehnaz stood holding her infant. “I want my kids vaccinated,” she whispered. “But we have no voice.”

 

Only 10 out of 100 children in the area attend this anganwadi. “There is no learning,” said the AWW. “Only a meal, when possible.” All the AWHs THE WEEK spoke to said that they were overworked, underpaid and never appreciated. “At times, we are forced to skip meals, too, because rations don’t come on time, and when they do, they simply get over, without any accountability,” said an AWH.

 

When THE WEEK contacted Ranjit Singh, director of ICDS, Gujarat, he refused to comment.

 

Activists flagged the lack of transparency, saying the government is not open to sharing data. “We asked them for a list of beneficiaries under the ICDS system, but nothing came,” said RTI activist Santosh Singh Rathod. He then filed a complaint with the Grievance Redressal Cell of the state’s women and child development department. “As per the Transparency and Accountability Act, all records related to the targeted public distribution system have to be placed in public domain and kept open for inspection to the public. But the government refuses to do so.”

 

On ground, discrimination, neglect, and indifference persist―unchecked unless someone complains, unrecorded unless someone notices and unresolved even when someone does.

The Week