As I stepped out of the car, the first thing I noticed was the children having lunch. Their plates were filled with roti, ladyfinger sabzi, potato curry, dal, rice, puris, and shrikhand. A comforting, home-cooked aroma filled the air, a testament to the care put into their meals. Mr. Nitesh Bansode, the owner of Savlee, warmly insisted that we join them. It was more than just an invitation; it was a gesture of belonging.
After lunch, Mr. Bansode took us on a tour of the orphanage. He proudly showed us the kitchen, where large machines ground grains and kneaded dough. The kitchen had an R.O. water purifier, a fridge that had been donated just this year, and a vast washing area for utensils. Storage units lined the walls, holding essential food grains. Every corner of the kitchen spoke of efficiency and necessity, a well-maintained space feeding over thirty children daily.
Next, we spent time with the boys, ranging from six to twenty years old. Among them was Shubham, who had been at Savlee since the age of six and was now pursuing his B.A. He had chosen to stay even after turning eighteen to continue his education. Vishal was immersed in his ITI course, while Ganesh and Vaibhav were preparing for their 10th standard exams. Younger boys, such as Om in 11th standard, Shreyas and Rudra in 3rd, and Sai and Soham in 5th, shared their aspirations with us, their eyes filled with hope and curiosity.
However, life at the orphanage was not without challenges. As Mr. Bansode showed us the boys’ rooms, he spoke about the difficulties they faced during monsoons—walls affected by moisture, insect infestations, and the persistent musty smell. Every two to three years, the rooms had to be repainted to keep them habitable.
Savlee is home to fifteen boys and fifteen girls. As we moved to meet the girls, one story, in particular, left a deep imprint on my heart. Harshili, a young girl from the Pardhi community, had witnessed her mother’s murder. After being brought to Savlee, she was separated from her younger sisters, Kaveri and Aavina, who were forced to beg by their grandmother. Years later, when they turned six, they were finally reunited at the orphanage, where they were now receiving an education and a chance at a different life.
Among the girls, Vaishnavi stood out—a bright 12th-standard student at a residency college, eager to share an article she had written. Her excitement was infectious, a reflection of the dreams nurtured within the orphanage. Other girls, like Shreya in 6th, Kalpana in 9th, and Kartiki in 4th, welcomed us warmly.
We were then taken to the girls’ hostel, which was in a separate building from the boys’ quarters. On the ground floor, there was an office where administrative work took place. As we climbed to the first floor, we were introduced to their library. The room was neatly arranged, with shelves of books lining the walls and a row of computers set up for study sessions. Two televisions hung on the walls, used for both educational purposes and entertainment. The girls proudly showed us their space, explaining how MSW students sometimes came to teach them how to use computers.When asked about the movies they watched, Vaishnavi enthusiastically listed them: “Hanuman, Shri Ram the Warrior, Lagaan, Taare Zameen Par.” She added that they watched a variety of films—Bollywood, Hollywood, animated—all together as a group, making it a cherished activity.
Above the library floor, there was another level where the girls stayed. The rooms had bunk beds neatly arranged, with pillows and blankets folded at the ends. Some of the elder girls were sitting on their beds when we entered. Unlike the boys, they seemed more reserved and hesitant to engage. When I tried asking them questions, they remained mostly silent, their responses limited to brief nods or averted gazes. Their demeanor reflected a sense of distance, a stark contrast to the boys’ openness.
Finally, we sat down with Mr. Bansode to understand Savlee’s journey. Over the past 23 years, the orphanage had provided shelter and education to over 1,500 children. The stories of how these children arrived at Savlee were heartbreaking. Most were not completely orphaned—one parent had passed away while the other was often an alcoholic or unable to provide for them. Relatives, unwilling to take responsibility, left them with no choice but to find refuge here.
Mr. Bansode spoke about the emotional scars these children carried. Discriminatory behavior from society often left them feeling angry, withdrawn, or overly sensitive. They struggled to trust and integrate. Yet, despite these challenges, Savlee thrived on love, discipline, and resilience. He himself had been orphaned, and his own experiences with discrimination had inspired him to create this home.
“The children don’t need money,” he said. “They need love, respect, and space. They want to talk; they want to be heard.”
Striking a balance between affection and discipline, he had built a sanctuary where children were not just sheltered but nurtured.
As I left Savlee, the experience stayed with me. It was not just a shelter for orphaned children—it was a home built on hope, resilience, and the promise of a better tomorrow. This visit, my first to an orphanage, was a profound and unforgettable experience—one that changed my perspective on love, family, and the simple yet powerful act of listening.
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