It has been five years since Daulatram’s family left Pakistan’s Sindh province in search of safety and a better future for their children. But in Delhi, that dream of a new beginning has come to a halt. Like many other Pakistani Hindu refugee families living near Signature Bridge, Daulatram’s children face a bleak educational future — their lives trapped in bureaucratic uncertainty. Without Aadhaar cards or valid Indian identity documents, most of these children are unable to continue their studies beyond the fifth standard.

I wanted to write about this because the story of these children is not just about refugees or paperwork — it is about access to education, one of the most basic human rights. These families came to India believing it would offer them safety and opportunity. Yet, in the absence of official documentation, their children are now left on the margins, unable to study, dream, or progress. It’s an important issue because it highlights how policy gaps, even when unintentional, can lock an entire generation out of education and dignity.

Stuck Between Borders: The Struggles of Refugee Families

Daulatram, who runs a small roadside stall, has five children. Out of them, only one — his daughter Sandhya — currently attends a Municipal Corporation of Delhi (MCD) primary school near Majnu ka Tilla. She is in class five and will soon have to drop out because she doesn’t possess an Aadhaar card, which is required for admission to middle school.

“We came here with all our heart and money, hoping for a better life. But our children have no future. Without Aadhaar, no one listens to us. We are just surviving hand to mouth,” Daulatram said.

Their story is similar to that of dozens of families who fled religious persecution in Pakistan, seeking refuge in India under the belief that they would find security and belonging. Yet, without citizenship papers or legal recognition, even enrolling their children in schools becomes a near-impossible task.

The ‘Aadhaar Barrier’ and the Right to Education

Under the Right to Education (RTE) Act, 2009, every child between the ages of 6 and 14 is entitled to free and compulsory education. In theory, this should apply to all children living in India — irrespective of their nationality or documentation status. However, in practice, most schools require Aadhaar for admission, mid-day meal registration, or access to scholarships and benefits.

Education activists have raised concerns that this administrative requirement is excluding thousands of refugee and migrant children. In the case of the Pakistani Hindu refugee community in Delhi, this barrier is particularly severe. Most of them arrived with Pakistani passports that have since expired, and their applications for long-term visas or citizenship remain pending with the authorities.

Without these documents, they cannot obtain Aadhaar cards, which in turn means their children cannot be enrolled in higher classes. Even when schools make exceptions, students face difficulties in receiving certificates or participating in official examinations.

Community Schools and Makeshift Education

In the absence of formal schooling, some volunteer groups and local NGOs have started community-run learning centres near the refugee camps. These centres offer basic literacy and numeracy lessons, often taught by volunteers from within the settlement itself.

While these efforts are commendable, they cannot replace formal education. The children at these centres do not receive recognised certificates or access to structured curricula. Many parents worry that without government recognition, their children’s learning will have no future value.

“We try to teach them reading, writing, and basic Hindi,” said a volunteer teacher from the Majnu ka Tilla camp. “But when these kids reach the age for secondary school, they have nowhere to go. Some start working; others just stay at home.”

Policy Gaps and Human Consequences

The issue reflects a grey area in India’s refugee and education policy. While India is not a signatory to the 1951 UN Refugee Convention, it has historically hosted displaced groups from neighbouring countries. The Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), 2019, promised fast-tracked citizenship for persecuted minorities from Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Bangladesh, including Hindus — yet the rules for implementation are still awaited.

For families like Daulatram’s, this delay means continued uncertainty. Their children, too young to understand politics, are paying the price of administrative inaction.

“My son wants to become a teacher, but how will that happen when he can’t even finish school?” another parent asked. “We fled persecution and came here believing our children would study and build a life. But even here, they are being left behind.”

Education Officials and the Way Forward

Officials from the Delhi government’s education department have acknowledged that documentation challenges exist for children from marginalised and displaced communities, but say that exceptions can sometimes be made. Schools under the MCD and Delhi Directorate of Education have the authority to admit students provisionally, though implementation varies widely.

Child rights groups are urging the government to issue temporary learning IDs or relaxed admission guidelines for refugee children, allowing them to continue schooling until their citizenship or Aadhaar status is resolved.

“Education should not be tied to documentation,” said a representative of a Delhi-based NGO. “These are children growing up in India. Denying them education today will only deepen inequality and alienation tomorrow.”

Beyond Aadhaar: The Right to Learn and Belong

The struggles of Pakistani Hindu refugee children in Delhi symbolise a larger question: What does inclusion mean in a country that prides itself on education for all? For these children, the issue isn’t just about identity papers — it’s about belonging, hope, and a fair chance to learn.

Experts believe that a humanitarian approach, coupled with flexible policy implementation, can help bridge this gap. After all, education is not only a legal right but also a moral responsibility.