In the early morning drizzle of Maruti Nagar basti, on the outskirts of Pune, 12-year-old Gauri Suresh Kale and her siblings huddle together on a wooden bed, flipping through old passport photos. These pictures, rescued from a battered plastic bag, are the only documents in their home—a home with no plastic sheet to keep out the rain, no solid proof of their existence, and, for Gauri and 62 other children in the settlement, no access to school.
Their mother, Sakku Suresh Kale, recalls a time when their father tried to secure Aadhaar and ration cards for the children, hoping to enroll them in school. The effort fell short. As Gauri explains, “Aai is cleaning the hut. We don’t have a plastic sheet on the thatched roof,” but she’s relieved the photos are safe. The family’s story is far from unique in this basti of 80 huts, home to the Gav Pardhi tribe. Here, children are born at home, rarely immunized, and their ages are little more than guesswork. Most have never set foot in a classroom.
According to The Hindu, three years ago, Gauri and a handful of other children tried to attend the Hanumantrao Tukaram Thorve Prathamik Vidhyalaya, a government school just 500 meters away. Within two days, administrators turned them away. The reason? No Aadhaar card—a 12-digit identification number that’s become a near-universal key to public services in India.
The Aadhaar system, launched by the Unique Identification Authority of India, is meant to serve as proof of identity and address for all residents. While the Supreme Court ruled between 2013 and 2014 that lack of an Aadhaar card shouldn’t block access to subsidies or services, later decisions allowed its use for registering for rations, gas subsidies, and certain welfare schemes. In practice, however, the Maharashtra Education Department’s SARAL portal requires every student’s Aadhaar to link them to scholarships, uniforms, and textbooks.
For Gauri and her neighbors, this bureaucratic barrier is insurmountable. Appu Ratan Kale, likely nine years old, sits outside his hut with his siblings, whittling a broken cricket bat. His mother, Ambu Kale, recounts her failed attempt to enroll her children in school: “The teacher told us that there is no point in bringing them to school because without an Aadhaar card, they would not get free school uniforms, bags, stationery, books, and the midday meal.” She says repeated visits to the District Collector’s office led nowhere. “Now they sell nimbu-mirchi with me.”
Officials from the Department of Tribal Development insist that schools must register all students, even those without Aadhaar cards, under UDISE+, an education management system. They also point to the existence of ashramshalas—boarding schools for tribal children. Yet, teachers maintain that the SARAL portal can’t process students without Aadhaar numbers, creating a deadlock that leaves children out in the cold.
The consequences of lacking documentation extend beyond education. In March 2025, a 65-year-old man from the Katkaria tribe died. His family was denied the right to cremate him in the village crematorium until, after a 17-hour ordeal and a police protest, an Aadhaar card was issued posthumously. Rani Hanumant Pawar, a widow in Maruti Nagar, faces similar hurdles. Without a birth certificate or her late husband’s death certificate, she and her three children are excluded from government schemes. “Till date, I do not have my husband’s death certificate. My children also do not have any documents. If I had an Aadhaar card and a death certificate, I would have been able to apply for several schemes,” she told The Hindu.
The government has taken some steps. Pune Collector Jitendra Dudi reports that, in the last five months, authorities identified 18,000 Katkaris in the district and arranged Aadhaar cards for 15,000 of them. They also provided ration cards to 3,500 families and secured housing for 900 Katkaris. For those without any supporting documents, officials conduct a panchnama—an official investigation into a person’s origins—to facilitate Aadhaar enrollment.
Yet, the process remains fraught with obstacles. NGOs like the Swadhar Institute for Development of Women & Children have compiled lists of children without Aadhaar cards and submitted them to the Chief Minister. In November 2024, they identified 136 such children in Pune’s bastis. Errors in existing Aadhaar cards—spelling mistakes, wrong phone number links, or cards tied to other people’s bank accounts—are common, especially among migrants with documents from other states.
Even those who have managed to secure some documentation struggle with administrative hurdles. Shivaji Shalu Pawar, who considers himself lucky to have obtained an Aadhaar card a decade ago, still finds it unlinked to his phone number despite months of effort. In Palghar district, where the majority are Katkaria, Warli, and Thakar tribes, the shifting of district boundaries has created new headaches, with villagers told to travel 80 kilometers to Thane to update their records. According to Bhalchandra Salve of the NGO Aroehan, “In a year, along with the Collector’s office we have conducted 20 camps that benefited 150 people.” Poor internet and unreliable electricity often limit the reach of such initiatives.
The lack of Aadhaar cards also blocks access to vital health services. Sanjana Sidhu Pawar, pregnant and living in Maruti Nagar, says she has not received immunizations or prenatal supplements. “I went to a government hospital but in the absence of an Aadhaar card, the medical staff refused.” Doctors in rural Maharashtra say they try to register patients based on primary information, but tribal communities’ nomadic lifestyles complicate matters.
A recent survey by the Nashik-based NGO Better Livelihood and Education through Fundamental Studies found that, in 11 villages of Palghar district, 2,167 out of 2,579 surveyed people lacked Aadhaar, voter IDs, bank accounts, or MGNREGA job cards. In Beed, another NGO identified 10 children from Bhil and Pardhi tribes, all out of school due to missing Aadhaar cards.
In Unta basti, a settlement of camel herders, the challenges persist. Rekha Soma Chauhan, disabled by polio, displays her Aadhaar card—issued in another state and bearing the wrong name. “If I had a proper Aadhaar card, I would have been receiving a disability and widow pension and not been dependent on my ageing parents working as housekeeping staff in flats,” she says.
Grassroots organizations have mobilized to address these systemic issues. The Bhatke Vimukta Adivasi Samanvay Samiti, a coalition of NGOs, has documented over 336 children from 42 tribal communities lacking basic identity documents. Their advocacy has led to meetings with senior officials and a push for anganwadi centers in tribal hamlets to improve access to education and health services.
On May 20, 2025, the Maharashtra government launched the Maharajaswa Abhiyan, aiming to make revenue administration more people-oriented and efficient. While such initiatives offer hope, the reality on the ground remains stubbornly resistant to change. For families like Gauri’s, the promise of inclusion is still just that—a promise, waiting to be fulfilled.