In June 2025, a teenage boy was allegedly beaten to death by two fellow inmates inside the Special Home for Boys in Majnu ka Tila, Delhi. The violence, though horrifying, barely made headlines; for those who have worked inside India’s juvenile justice system, it came as no surprise. His death is not an exception: it is the product of a system built ostensibly to protect and rehabilitate children, but which in fact functions more as a punitive institution of neglect, say child rights lawyers and former officials.
The homes remain overcrowded, under-resourced, and staffed by untrained personnel, according to multiple professionals who have worked within the juvenile justice system. Institutionalisation, intended to be rare and temporary, has become the default despite the law’s clear mandate that custody be used only as a last resort. This despite the Juvenile Justice (Care and Protection of Children) Act, which is among the most progressive child protection laws in the world: its emphasis on restoration, non-institutional care, and last-resort custody reflects a thoughtful approach to how young people should be treated. Yet in practice, this spirit is routinely ignored.
Lawyers, psychologists, and child rights advocates argue that the death at Majnu ka Tila reflects a system that responds to vulnerability with punishment instead of care. Violence in these institutions, they say, stems less from inherent aggression and more from neglect, abandonment, and a lack of psychological support.
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Juvenile homes across the country have frequently witnessed violence and abuse. In Mumbai’s Dongri Children’s Home, two separate violent outbursts by inmates in late 2024 left staff injured and property damaged. In November 2024, a clash at the Gorakhpur Observation Home injured at least 10 boys. Experts say most incidents never make it to public record as institutions routinely invoke the child’s “privacy” to block scrutiny and keep violence hidden.
Amod Kanth, former IPS officer, ex-chairman of the Delhi Commission for Protection of Child Rights, and founder of Prayas Juvenile Aid Centre, said that in his nearly 50 years of experience, violence among children in custody is rare and almost always a result of mismanagement. “Children do not inherently want to fight. If the management is impartial and in line with the law and the children’s best interests, such conflicts generally do not occur”. During the 26 years that Prayas ran the Feroz Shah Kotla home—caring for over 26,000 children—he recalled no major incident of violence. “The children show deep affection for one another. The camaraderie they share is truly striking”.
More than twice the capacity
In Delhi’s government-run juvenile homes today, conditions appear far from ideal. Across the city, most homes are overcrowded. Children are crammed into under-ventilated rooms, with minimal staff and no clear structure, according to those working closely with Delhi’s child protection system. While the total sanctioned capacity across the eight homes is 400, the current strength exceeds 500. The Majnu ka Tila facility, where the recent incident occurred, houses more than twice its capacity. Despite repeated attempts, the Department of Women and Child Development did not respond to Frontline’s queries.
The children’s physical state, their mental health, and the apathy of the system: it’s deeply disturbing, says child rights lawyer Anant Kumar Asthana. (Representative Image)
| Photo Credit:
Vardhan
Child rights lawyer Anant Kumar Asthana described the conditions as “shocking”. According to him, children are routinely locked in small, dark rooms—20 to 30 together—with no ventilation, electricity, or even windows. They are let out just once a day to relieve themselves “to prevent escape”. Many homes operate with just one guard on duty for the entire building. “The children’s physical state, their mental health, and the apathy of the system: it’s deeply disturbing”, he said.
The problem, Asthana added, isn’t just inside the homes. Even in the Juvenile Justice Boards, children are often treated like objects—snapped at, silenced, and denied meaningful participation in hearings. “Often they’re not even brought before a judge”. Privacy, he noted, is the only provision of the law implemented with consistency—“not to protect the child, but to shield the system from scrutiny”.
He believes that most incidents of violence in these homes stem from emotional neglect. “Children are biologically wired with an incredible ability to adapt and survive. They try—again and again—to cope, to hold on. But when hope vanishes entirely, when the frustration has no outlet, that’s when violence erupts. It’s a consequence of abandonment.” In cases of custodial death, Asthana said, “If systems worked, if protocols were followed, at worst, there would have been a scuffle—not a death.”
According to Kanth, the child must feel like they are in a home—not a jail. “Staff should feel like a family.”
The Juvenile Justice Act separates children in need of care and protection (CNCP) from those in conflict with the law (CCL). While CNCPs are placed in shelters, CCLs are held in observation or special homes, or “places of safety”. Kanth said the line between these homes and jails often blurs. “If the home is run like a detention centre, with no education, no extracurriculars, no visitors—then of course violence and distress will follow.” In such spaces, he said, family visits are rare, and access to positive developmental activities is extremely limited.
‘We can’t afford counsellors’
Shilpa Mehta, a clinical psychologist and former Child Welfare Committee member, pointed out that many homes fail to meet even the basic standards outlined in the law. “There’s a consistent lack of trained staff and serious funding issues. Homes often rely on outside donations for essentials. When we ask why they don’t hire qualified counsellors, the answer is always the same: ‘We can’t afford it’. The funding cycle is irregular, so nothing runs smoothly”.
She observed that while overcrowding persists, institutions are also shutting down. In Rajasthan, where she served, the number of homes fell from 21 to seven in six years. “Many closed due to funding or complaints. Children were either shifted to other overcrowded homes or sent back into vulnerable communities”.
Mehta stressed that in the absence of proper psychological intervention, children often adopt each other’s behaviours, especially maladaptive ones. “Children come from varied, vulnerable backgrounds—missing children, child labour, trafficking survivors—and they carry their trauma with them”, she said. “In these homes, older children often pass on harmful behaviours to younger ones. With limited guidance or emotional support, many just sit around watching TV, without any meaningful engagement or counselling”.
An analysis of the National Crime Records Bureau’s Crime in India reports shows a clear trend: between 2013 to 2022, the number of reported crimes committed by juveniles declined from 43,506 to 30,555—a drop of nearly 30 per cent in 10 years.
Most juvenile homes in Delhi are overcrowded, children are crammed into under-ventilated rooms, with minimal staff and no clear structure. (Representational image)
| Photo Credit:
RAJEEV BHATT
Yet this overall decline masks a more troubling pattern. The share of juveniles involved in violent offences has risen sharply. In 2016, 32.5 per cent of all juveniles apprehended were caught for violent crimes. By 2022, this figure had risen to 49.5 per cent, meaning that nearly half of all juveniles in conflict with the law were involved in such offences.
Despite this, experts caution against reading the number as a cause for panic. “India records around 65 lakh crimes a year. Of these, around 30,000 to 35,000 are committed by children. Heinous crimes? Just 7,000 to 8,000. For a country this size—with a massive police force and governance machinery—that is hardly unmanageable”, said Kanth. He believes India’s numbers are comparatively low. “Children make up 40 per cent of India’s population and account for less than one per cent of total crimes. Unlike countries like the U.S., where juvenile crime is a serious problem, in India, this is not an insurmountable situation”.
Illiterate, homeless, abused
What makes the situation urgent, he said, is not the volume—but the conditions. “Most children in conflict with the law are illiterate, homeless, abused, or without family support. The affluent ones get lawyers and avoid the system. The ones who remain are the most marginalised.”
He referred to these circumstances as “criminogenic”—environments that pull children into crime. “Many are innocent. The majority are caught up in bad situations: dragged into crime by elders, or simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Peer pressure, lack of guidance, and adult influence are often the driving factors.” For Kanth, juvenile crime is not a policing failure—it’s a failure of care. “If children are ending up in conflict with the law, we must ask: what family, school, or protection did they lack?
The issue, Asthana said, is not with the homes, but the chain of decisions that lands the children there. “Bail should be the default. But many are kept in custody because judges and police still believe suffering leads to reform. It’s a carceral mindset”. Many magistrates appointed to Juvenile Justice Boards, he said, lack training in child rights. “They come from regular courts with a ‘crime equals punishment’ mentality. But under this law, a child is not a criminal—she or he is someone in need of restoration”.
“Children are biologically wired to adapt and survive. They try—again and again—to cope, to hold on. But when hope vanishes entirely, that’s when violence erupts.”Anant Kumar AsthanaChild rights lawyer
The Juvenile Justice Act mandates that institutionalisation be a last resort, limits arrest to heinous offences, and guarantees bail as a right. It outlines a graded system of seven responses—ranging from counselling and community service to probation. Yet, in practice, children are routinely incarcerated for both minor and serious offences, said Asthana. “Even when arrest isn’t permitted, the police go ahead. The Board rarely intervenes”, said Asthana. Frontline reached out to Delhi Police’s Special Police Unit for Women and Children but did not receive a response.
Despite the principle of “last resort”, alternatives to custody barely exist. Probation systems are broken, counselling is often missing, and community support is negligible, according to both Mehta and Kanth. “So what do they do? They put the child in a home. It’s the same neglect—just under a different label,” said Asthana.
Kanth offered a more nuanced view. While he agreed that reformative care is critical, he questioned the blanket dismissal of institutions. “There’s this cliché that institutional care should always be a last resort. I’m not wedded to that idea”, he said. “For many children—those who are abandoned, unsafe on the streets, or rejected by their families—institutions become the only viable shelter”.
Rather than draw a hard line between institutional and non-institutional care, Kanth sees them as part of a continuum. “A child is in non-institutional care before entering the system—and returns to it when they leave. What matters is the quality of care, not the location”.
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The institutional neglect, experts say, doesn’t end with custody—it often deepens after release. “Aftercare doesn’t function anywhere”, said Kanth. “And it shouldn’t begin at the exit—it must start while the child is still inside. Otherwise, release feels like abandonment. They return to the same environment that failed them, with no support”.
The Juvenile Justice Act of 2000 had laid out a detailed aftercare framework: financial aid, community-based housing, vocational training. But Kanth said many of these provisions were diluted in the 2015 amendment. “We need a strong aftercare system. Otherwise, reform is just a word.”
Mehta echoed this concern. Most institutions, she said, lack trauma-informed staff. “Even when reports acknowledge that a child has faced abuse, there’s often no follow-up—no therapy, no sustained counselling.” What’s missing is real, ongoing therapeutic engagement—planned by professionals, not just administrators, she said.
Kanth added that the problem goes deeper than resources or staffing. “The Juvenile Justice Act talks about care, protection, welfare, development, rehabilitation, social integration, empowerment. That’s the continuum of care. But the system mirrors the adult criminal justice setup. Children become peculiar legal subjects—they don’t have the same access to courts or fundamental rights as adults. Their protection keeps shifting hands—from the police to the staff to the Juvenile Board—with no one fully accountable”.
Asthana offered a final reminder. “People forget what it means to be 17 or 18. In trainings, I ask them to remember who they were then—confused, curious, dreaming. But they had someone to catch them. These children don’t. When they fall, and no one is there. That’s how they end up in these homes”.
