We were disheartened to see media outlets amplify his post without context or critique, so we have unpacked his argument in depth here. His post is merely an illustrative case. In our time in so-called elite institutions, we have seen many professors share similar attitudes, and this analysis draws on that lived experience of the system as much as on his words. With this critique of a public argument, we hope to prompt reflection on the individual and institutional biases that harm students from marginalised groups in elite institutions.

I am disturbed to see Prof. Suryanarayana Doola being vilified over the recent controversy at IIT Bombay. I know Surya personally. He is one of the finest faculty members I have known in the IIT system, and a gentleman of the highest integrity. Whatever concerns have been raised… pic.twitter.com/PwlAWQWvW9

— V. Ramgopal Rao, Ph.D. (@ramgopal_rao) September 23, 2026

This post is veiled but vile. It is hard to spot unless one recognises casteism not merely in visceral acts but as structural and systemic, deeply embedded in elite institutions as much as in society at large. The post invokes casteist prejudices within the reader without saying the quiet part aloud, leaving room for deniability. The argument leans on this prejudice so heavily that it doesn’t even bother hiding its own contradictions. 

He says “With students coming through an intensive coaching culture, and classrooms bringing together students whose JEE Advanced ranks range from single digits to five digits (in the same class -for example CSE in IIT Delhi), we now have highly heterogeneous classrooms across the IIT system. Language also further adds to the challenge.

The question to ask therefore is, with such heterogeneity, can we expect every student to learn at the same pace?”

He invokes two kinds of heterogeneity, ability and background, and seamlessly equates them, which is itself casteist. He further laments that a teacher cannot teach effectively to such a heterogenous class properly. 

What heterogeneity in ability could he possibly be referring to at IITs, which are defined above all, by their exclusivity? IIT intake is about 1% of those who appear for the JEE, and JEE aspirants themselves are only about a tenth of those who sit the Class 12 boards. 

The question to ask, therefore, is this: what does it say about your competence as a teacher if you cannot cater to the brightest 1% of the country, by your own institute’s standard? Why shouldn’t we question the merit of a teacher who makes excuses about supposed heterogeneity in the country’s most exclusive and selective classrooms?

JEE Advanced is scored out of 360 marks, yet those few hundred points are stretched into ranks running into the tens of thousands. A difference of a handful of marks, often within the margin of error of any exam, can separate ranks by hundreds or thousands of places. 

As Pierre Bourdieu argued, competitive exams do not measure pre-existing differences in ability so much as manufacture them, forcing a largely undifferentiated pool into an ordinal hierarchy where marginal, often arbitrary gaps in marks are treated as real, stable differences in ‘ability’.

The heterogeneity in ability that the professor describes is not a fact, but an artifact manufactured by the ranking system. When educators talk about ability solely in terms of these ranks, as if they were an absolute, hierarchical measure of ability across the cohort, this serves a narrative that justifies discrimination and shields educators from scrutiny.

He claims, “We now have highly heterogenous classrooms across the IIT system.” What does he mean by “now”? Does he mean after the implementation of reservations? He never says so outright, but he implies it to any reader who already carries that prejudice.

He says “There is nothing wrong with opening the doors of our best institutions to students from different backgrounds. The question is whether we have addressed this heterogeneity in our teaching-learning methods.”

This statement, by itself, is a valid goal if the question is an invitation to introspect whether the pedagogy in IIT classrooms is sensitive to the diversity of students in it. 

However, he follows it up with, “A faculty member cannot pitch every class at several levels at once. Move too slowly, and some students lose interest. Move too quickly, and others are left behind.”, where he is talking about heterogeneity in learning achievement levels or ability. 

He seamlessly jumps from heterogeneity in (caste) backgrounds to heterogeneity in ability, equating the two. This sleight of hand lets him imply, to a prejudiced audience, that students who enter through reservation lack ability, without saying it openly.

He contradicts himself: he says those with lower JEE Advanced ranks cannot learn at the same pace as top rankers yet also claims that even top rankers struggle because coaching trained them for familiar questions and not independent thinking.

If JEE rank is such an accurate arbiter of merit and ranks people by ability so precisely that a difference of a few thousand ranks makes them incompatible in ability to share a classroom, and by those very standards, the toppers are struggling too. 

The top rankers struggle and the bottom rankers struggle, In other words, the ‘less meritorious’ struggle and the ‘more meritorious’ struggle. Perhaps, then, the problem is not the students. Perhaps it is the teaching.

If you reject that explanation, the alternative is that the JEE selection system itself is biased toward coachability rather than independent thinking, so much so that even top rankers struggle once they enter college. The skills required to win a filtering system are not directly relevant to college, nor is rank an absolute arbiter of merit. That would mean the system was never a ‘pure selector’ of ability whose function is ‘compromised’ by reservation; it did not select for merit in the first place. 

Despite this glaring contradiction and the casteism underlying it, people still fail to consider the obvious possibility that the teacher is incompetent, or the system is. This lazy, contradictory narrative stokes anti-reservation prejudice only because a prejudiced reader is blind to the holes in it.

He assumes throughout that the teacher is competent, and that the only real difficulty is the heterogeneity in ability among students. What about the heterogeneity in the ability of teachers? Or is that assumed not to exist, because of the lack of heterogeneity in the backgrounds of IIT faculty, by his logic? 

In reality, many professors at elite institutes like IITs are not selected for their ability to teach, but for their research record. Many take pride in identifying primarily as researchers and openly detest teaching. Not every good researcher is a good teacher. But because teaching is systematically undervalued, the hierarchy between research and teaching lets the system excuse its own failure to prioritise teaching skills in the selection and appointment of these faculty. Teaching skill includes sensitivity to students, something fundamentally incompatible with the meritocratic logic that reduces them to their ranks. 

Hence, unless these issues are addressed, extending the programme from four to five years only prolongs students’ time under a system that fails them.

Notably, Prof. Rao, who now defends a colleague accused of casteism by a deceased student’s parents, chaired the 2020 committee that recommended IITs be exempt from reservation in faculty recruitment.

“A public campaign against an individual serves no one” he says. Except, that’s precisely what IIT Bombay and the media did to Sahil, and he shows no comparable concern for that trial of a student who can no longer defend himself.

Any real solution to the crisis of student deaths in elite institutions like IITs must begin with confronting and dismantling the prejudices that kill. Diversifying the faculty by effectively implementing reservation norms is one concrete way forward. It further requires faculty and institutions to introspect on their biases and unlearn them, with a commitment to equality, and to recognise that equality is not at odds with excellence but a condition of it. 

(Authors: Sulochana R is a research scholar in Science Education in Homi Bhabha Centre for Science Education, TIFR Mumbai; Pranav Jeevan P holds a PhD in Artificial Intelligence from IIT Bombay. He has earlier studied quantum computing in IIT Madras and Robotics at IIT Kanpur.)

Disclaimer: The views expressed here are the author’s personal views, and do not necessarily represent the views of Sabrangindia.

Related:

Three years after Darshan Solanki, Sahil Wakode’s death shows IIT Bombay still has no answer on caste, power and student deaths

Mumbai Dharna for Darshan Solanki makes calls for law against caste discrimination

The Normalisation of Suicide at IITs: Institutional blindness and failure

A Long Battle, A Swift Stay: The Fight for Equitable Campuses

The Anatomy of Humiliation: Defining caste violence in the Constitutional era

Another student lost to suicide at IIT-Delhi

The post Unpacking a Coded Defence: What an IIT Professor’s post reveals about attitudes in elite institutions appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Teesta Setalvad speaks with Saurav Das about youth activism, intergenerational solidarity, “School Thik Karo”, social audits of government schools, police accountability and the right to protest.

They discuss the Supreme Court’s intervention on protest-related FIRs, the violence faced by protesters, and why citizens must keep questioning institutions meant to serve them.

And then, humour: why satire, irreverence and a refusal to be solemn became part of the movement itself.

A conversation about young citizens, public institutions and the courage to ask questions.

The post This Regime Is Anti-Fun; Humour Can Strip Its Legitimacy | Saurav Das | Teesta Setalvad appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The circumstances immediately preceding his death have become a central part of the investigation. Doolla was reportedly the invigilator during Wakode’s examination and, according to the institute’s initial account (later regretfully denied by IIT Mumbai), Wakode had been found using a mobile phone and had uploaded the examination question paper to ChatGPT to obtain answers. IIT Bombay initially stated that no disciplinary action had been initiated against him and that he had been counselled by the concerned faculty members.

But that account quickly became contested. Students and Wakode’s family alleged that the incident involved threats of disciplinary action and suspension and that Wakode had been humiliated. The Indian Express has since reported that Crime Branch investigators are examining CCTV footage from the examination hall showing Doolla approaching Wakode and asking him to leave the hall. The footage is now part of an investigation that is attempting to reconstruct what happened between the examination and Wakode’s death.

What remains equally important is what happened before September 18. Wakode’s family has alleged that the examination incident was not an isolated interaction but occurred against the backdrop of months of caste-based and mental harassment. Those allegations have not been established, and the Crime Branch investigation must determine whether they are supported by witness statements, communications, institutional records and other evidence. But the absence of a prior formal complaint cannot, by itself, be treated as proof that discrimination did not occur.

Breaking: IITB accepts that cheating allegation against Sahil Wakode are not proven, backtracks earlier letter

This is what we have been saying

Cheating allegation are not proven. IIT already backtracking

Prof Dulla should be arrested and investigated properly… https://t.co/BHjmciyQNv

— Ravi Ratan (@scribe_it) September 21, 2026

IIT Bombay has now suspended Professor Suryanarayana Doolla and also apologized over the matter.

The professor had falsely accused Sahil Wakode of using ChatGPT to cheat, an allegation that seriously damaged his academic career. pic.twitter.com/oQUlAb8WrM

— The Dalit Voice (@ambedkariteIND) September 21, 2026

Four suicides in one year at IIT Bombay. This is not a tragedy. This is institutional failure. This is institutional murder.

SFI stands with the students of IIT Bombay demanding action, accountability and transparency. pic.twitter.com/wSz7CastFD

— SFI (@SFI_CEC) September 20, 2026

It was never about cheating.

People justifying cheating leading to student ending his life in another pathetic view I came across.

I wish none of this happens to their kids. https://t.co/TaP02RiYKP

— Ratna Singh (@whattalawyer) September 21, 2026

अब तो IIT Bombay ने भी बिना किसी जांच के साहिल पर चीटिंग के आरोप लगाने पर माफीनामा जारी कर दिया है।

पहले साहिल को आत्महत्या पर मजबूर किया गया और अब उसके सांस्थानिक हत्या को जायज भी ठहराया जा रहा है! शर्मनाक है! https://t.co/e5cg5jPdNB pic.twitter.com/pjkLlCT16B

— Priyanka Bharti (@priyanka2bharti) September 21, 2026

The apology came only after the institution had already framed the story

The most troubling aspect of IIT Bombay’s handling of the matter may be the speed with which the institution initially presented a particular account of Wakode’s final hours. Its first public communication foregrounded the alleged use of a phone during the examination and the uploading of the question paper on ChatGPT. That communication effectively placed an allegation of academic misconduct at the centre of the public narrative before the circumstances surrounding the death had been independently established.

On September 21, however, IIT Bombay apologised and acknowledged that it had been inappropriate to set out or characterise details relating to the events preceding Wakode’s death before they had been established through the appropriate investigative process. The Times of India reported that the institute apologised for its earlier communication concerning the examination incident, while The Indian Express reported that students had specifically demanded an apology over what they described as the “defamation” of Wakode.

That reversal matters as the question was not whether academic misconduct should be taken seriously. It should. The question is whether, when a student dies hours after an interaction with institutional authority, the first responsibility of the institution should be to establish facts carefully rather than to publicly foreground an allegation that potentially shifts attention towards the student’s conduct.

The institute itself has now acknowledged that the circumstances had not yet been duly established. That acknowledgment should also invite scrutiny of how institutions speak about students after their deaths, particularly when those students belong to communities that have historically experienced discrimination within educational institutions.

Doolla has been removed as Dean. But only as Dean

IIT Bombay has temporarily relieved Professor Suryanarayana Doolla of his duties as Dean of Administrative Affairs pending an investigation. But, as The New Indian Express reported, Doolla continues to remain a professor in the Energy Science and Engineering department. The Times of India similarly reported that the action was limited to his administrative responsibilities and that he would continue as a professor.

This distinction is important because students had demanded that Doolla be removed from his academic duties as well. Their concern was not necessarily a demand that the professor be treated as guilty before investigation, but that a person named in an FIR concerning the death of a student should not continue exercising academic authority over students while the circumstances are being investigated.

The institute has justified his removal from the administrative post as a step intended to ensure an independent and unbiased investigation. That is understandable as an institutional measure. But it also leaves an obvious question: if independence from administrative authority is necessary for the inquiry, what safeguards are in place to ensure that students who may have information relevant to the investigation do not feel vulnerable when the professor continues to teach and exercise academic authority?

The FIR is not the investigation. But neither is institutional denial

The FIR records allegations made by Wakode’s family. The Crime Branch investigation must determine what happened, whether there was sustained harassment, whether caste-based discrimination occurred, whether any conduct contributed to Wakode’s distress, and whether any institutional response failed him. At the same time, IIT Bombay’s statement that no complaint had previously been made to its SC/ST cell or administration cannot settle the question either. The Indian Express reported that the institute relied on the absence of any such formal complaint when responding to the family’s allegations.

Caste discrimination does not necessarily announce itself through a formal written complaint. Students may hesitate to complain against professors who control grades, academic progression, recommendations or other aspects of university life. The possibility of retaliation, stigma or simply the belief that an institution will not act can itself become a barrier to reporting. That is precisely why an investigation into allegations of discrimination cannot be reduced to a search for whether a complaint was filed in the correct institutional forum.

What exactly is IIT Bombay defending?

The response from sections of the IIT Bombay faculty has introduced another dimension to the controversy. The Faculty Forum of IIT Bombay publicly expressed solidarity with Doolla, saying that he had been discharging his duties according to institute-approved academic procedures and that the faculty was distressed by what it described as the tarnishing of his reputation. The Indian Express reported that faculty members gathered in support of Doolla after he was removed as Dean, while faculty bodies at other IITs also expressed support for him.

There is nothing inherently improper about insisting upon due process or resisting a presumption of guilt. But due process cannot mean that institutional solidarity with a faculty member becomes a substitute for investigating allegations made by a student’s family. The two principles can coexist. Doolla is entitled to a fair investigation and should not be declared guilty merely because he has been named in an FIR. At the same time, Wakode’s family is entitled to have allegations of caste-based harassment and institutional failure investigated seriously, independently and without the investigation being overshadowed by a defence of the professor’s professional reputation.

The concern becomes particularly acute when the institution itself had initially issued a public account that it later apologised for.

This is not the first IIT Bombay student death to raise questions about caste

The most difficult part of the present controversy is that IIT Bombay cannot claim to be encountering these questions for the first time. In February 2023, Dalit student Darshan Solanki died by suicide at IIT Bombay. His death generated allegations of caste discrimination and intense campus debate over whether students from marginalised communities were adequately protected within the institution.

Three years later, Solanki’s father, Ramesh Solanki, has returned to the IIT Bombay campus in connection with protests following Wakode’s death. The Indian Express reported that parents of previous IIT Bombay suicide victims joined the protests and raised concerns about transparency, accountability, discrimination and the treatment of students from reserved communities. Ramesh Solanki reportedly continues to question aspects of the investigation into his son’s death.

The significance of Darshan Solanki therefore cannot simply be historical. His death forms part of the institutional memory against which the present case is unfolding. The question now is not only what happened to Sahil Wakode. It is also what IIT Bombay learnt from Darshan Solanki’s death, what institutional mechanisms were changed afterwards, and whether those mechanisms could identify and address the forms of exclusion that students may experience without ever making a formal complaint.

And then there are the other deaths

Wakode’s death has also occurred amid wider concerns over student suicides at IIT Bombay. Reports have referred to other student deaths this year, adding to the sense among students and parents that the problem cannot be treated as a single tragic incident. Moneycontrol, reporting on the aftermath of Wakode’s death, noted that the episode had once again brought student suicides at premier engineering institutions into focus. The protests at IIT Bombay have consequently expanded beyond the circumstances of one student’s death to include demands relating to mental-health support, institutional accountability and student welfare.

This is important because individualising every death can prevent institutions from examining common structural conditions. If students repeatedly experience academic pressure, fear of disciplinary action, inadequate grievance mechanisms, social isolation or discrimination, then treating each death as an entirely separate personal tragedy leaves the institutional environment itself largely unexamined.

The 18 demands show how much larger the crisis has become

The student protests have made clear that the controversy is no longer limited to the question of what happened inside one examination hall. According to The Indian Express, students placed an 18-point charter before the IIT Bombay administration. Their demands included an independent inquiry, changes to student welfare mechanisms, student representation on committees, a formal mechanism for complaints against professors, greater accountability of institutional authorities and stronger mental-health support, including access to psychiatric care.

These demands matter because they reveal what students themselves see as the larger problem. They are not asking only for an answer about September 18. They are questioning how decisions affecting students are made, who exercises authority over them, what happens when a student has a complaint against a professor, and whether students have any meaningful role in institutions that make decisions about their academic and personal lives.

An institution can have rules on paper and still leave students without meaningful protection if those rules are difficult to invoke against powerful members of the faculty.

The protests have also brought the role of IIT Bombay Director Professor Shireesh Kedare under scrutiny. Students demanded his resignation as part of their broader charter. Reports also emerged suggesting that he had agreed to resign, although IIT Bombay subsequently denied that he had stepped down.

A campus divided between solidarity and accountability

The response to the protests has also raised questions about how dissent is being handled around the campus. The Indian Express reported that police detained activists from different organisations who were protesting outside the IIT Bombay campus. Ramesh Solanki, whose son Darshan died in 2023, was among those participating in the protest and seeking accountability over the earlier case.

The present situation has produced an uncomfortable divide. Faculty groups have rallied around Doolla and emphasised academic integrity and due process. Students have demanded accountability and institutional reform. Wakode’s family has alleged caste-based harassment. The police are investigating. IIT Bombay has apologised for its initial public account while simultaneously maintaining that the circumstances remain under investigation.

The question IIT Bombay must now answer

The academic misconduct allegation has also become central to the public discussion. But academic integrity and caste discrimination are not mutually exclusive questions. Even if the investigation establishes that Wakode violated examination rules, that would not automatically disprove allegations that he may have experienced caste-based discrimination or harassment. Conversely, allegations of caste discrimination cannot be used to establish that an examination rule was not violated.

The two questions require separate examination. The tragedy is that IIT Bombay’s initial public statement blurred those questions by placing the examination incident at the centre of its account of Wakode’s death. Its subsequent apology acknowledged that the circumstances preceding his death should not have been characterised before they were established through investigation.

The most important question is not whether IIT Bombay can defend its procedures. It is whether those procedures are capable of protecting students when the person they may need protection from is someone who exercises institutional authority over them.

Detailed reports on Darshan Solanki suicide case may be read here, here, here, here and here.

Related:

Mumbai Dharna for Darshan Solanki makes calls for law against caste discrimination

The Normalisation of Suicide at IITs: Institutional blindness and failure

A Long Battle, A Swift Stay: The Fight for Equitable Campuses

The Anatomy of Humiliation: Defining caste violence in the Constitutional era

Another student lost to suicide at IIT-Delhi

IIT Kanpur: Third incident of suicide in five weeks, a 29-year-old PhD scholar found dead in her dorm room

Another student, belonging to the Scheduled Caste community, dies by suicide in IIT

Crucial evidence overlooked by IIT Committee, internal survey by SC/ST Cell contradicts report findings

The post Three years after Darshan Solanki, Sahil Wakode’s death shows IIT Bombay still has no answer on caste, power and student deaths appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The Open letter may be read below:

To

The Hon’ble Governor of West Bengal Lok Bhavan, Kolkata

Your Excellency,

We are senior academics from various institutions in West Bengal and elsewhere in India. We are writing to express our deep concern about the West Bengal Universities and Colleges (Administration and Regulation) (Amendment) Bill, 2026. The bill was passed in the Assembly on 10 September 2026. It would allow transfer of academic and non-academic staff between various state universities.

The reasons for our concern are both academic and procedural. The crucial academic issues are as follows:

1. Each university is a distinct organic entity with its own rationale, structure and programmes of It appoints its faculty in accord with these factors. To move staff from one institution to another would impair the structural balance of both institutions and hamper their teaching and research programmes. Such programmes cannot be readily revised or interchanged.
2. Taught courses and research orientation programmes are planned by and for particular teachers and would be impeded if they were transferred. Research work would be no less affected. A university has specialized faculty who attract fresh researchers in that field. Laboratory and library facilities are developed to provide for those special If those faculty members are transferred, young research students would be left without resort. The material resources would lie unused or underused, while the human resources – i.e., the relevant faculty – would be underemployed at a new institution.
3. Major research funding is invariably linked to the assurance of expert faculty members as Principal Investigators. No funder would agree to fund a project without this assurance. Interdisciplinary and multi-institutional projects would be especially On the other hand, the presence of core senior faculty in the field ensures a succession of projects, creating a node of research excellence. This is the case with many of our older universities. Transfer of faculty would impair the working of these research nodes.
4. At this point of time, even those older universities are impoverished of resources, material and human. Hundreds of posts are lying This is a particularly bad moment to deplete them of their remaining faculty.
5. We are anxious that the new universities should be developed productively, but this cannot be done by sporadic transfer of faculty from elsewhere. At present, all or most of the new universities are grossly lacking in staff, infrastructure and facilities. Some of them have no full-time teachers at all. These needs must be met with due planning and sufficient funding, with extensive recruitment of permanent staff at all Unless this is done, a handful of teachers brought in on transfer would be left to operate in a vacuum.
6. A more fundamental issue must also be Any such move would spell the end of academic autonomy. All the universities would be brought under centralized administrative control. They could no longer develop freely, each according to its bent. Academic productivity would suffer seriously if university faculty felt they could no longer control their own affairs. This is an intangible factor, but its importance cannot be overstated. We would particularly request you to consider this earnest appeal, made based on our lifetime’s experience.

Needless to say, there would also be endless procedural problems in coordinating the different terms of employment at various universities. Above all, there is the fundamental issue of whether faculty originally appointed to non-transferable posts could be subjected to this radical change in their terms of employment. We are not expanding on these legal and administrative issues as we wish to stress the dire academic consequences of the change.

In short, it is our strong opinion that this change, if implemented, would severely affect the functioning of the older and more established universities without material benefit to the new ones. We earnestly appeal to you to consider our arguments and refrain from giving your consent to the bill.

Yours faithfully

(Names in alphabetical order)

Amita Chatterjee, Professor Emerita, Jadavpur University, and former Vice-Chancellor, Presidency University

Amitava Raychaudhuri, former Palit Professor of Physics, University of Calcutta and former Director, Harish-Chandra Research Institute (DAE), Prayagraj

Anup Sinha, former Professor of Economics, Indian Institute of Management, Calcutta

Anupam Basu, Raja Ramanna Professor, Jadavpur University; former Professor of Computer Science and Engineering, Indian Institute of Technology, Kharagpur; former Director, National Institute of Technology, Durgapur

Ashok Ranjan Thakur, former Vice-Chancellor, West Bengal State University and Maulana Abul Kalam Azad University of Technology

Partha Chatterjee, former Director, Centre for Studies in Social Sciences, Calcutta

Partha P. Majumdar, Emeritus Professor, Indian Statistical Institute, and former National Science Chair

Sabyasachi Basu Ray Chaudhury, former Vice-Chancellor, Rabindra Bharati University

Sabyasachi Bhattacharya, Professor Emeritus, former Director and Distinguished Professor, Tata Institute of Fundamental Research

Samaresh Bhattacharya, Former Professor, Department of Chemistry, Jadavpur University and recipient of Shanti Swarup Bhatnagar prize

Sobhanlal Datta Gupta, former S.N. Banerjee Professor of Political Science, University of Calcutta

Siddhartha Datta, former Professor of Chemical Engineering and former Pro-Vice-Chancellor, Jadavpur University

Sukanta Chaudhuri, Professor Emeritus, Jadavpur University Supriya Chaudhuri, Professor Emerita, Jadavpur University

Related:

May-June 2026: Youth Congress nationwide protests challenge education system collapse under Modi government, media gives cold shoulder?

I AM MALALA! Afghanistan or Ahmedabad why are fundamentalists wary of the right to education?

Galgotias University’s AI Expo Debacle: What it says about Contemporary Indian Education & Public Culture

The post Refrain consent to WB University & Colleges Amendment Bill, 2026, will affect autonomy & functioning: Academic to Governor appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Paper leaks are often treated as an examination problem. For the students involved, it becomes a much bigger problem. A cancelled examination can mean starting preparation again, spending more money, travelling again and waiting months for another opportunity. For candidates close to the age limit, a delay can even affect their eligibility for another attempt.

The scale of the problem has been visible in some of India’s biggest examinations. The NEET UG 2024 controversy brought the issue into the national spotlight. The Central Bureau of Investigation investigated allegations surrounding the leakage of the examination paper in Hazaribagh, Jharkhand. The controversy also raised questions about grace marks, examination centres and the overall conduct of the examination.

Government recruitment examinations have faced similar controversies. In 2024, allegations of a question paper leak affected the Bihar Public Service Commission’s teacher recruitment examination, with the commission cancelling the examination for candidates at one centre in Patna. Such cases show how a problem at one point in the examination system can affect thousands of young people waiting for a fair chance.

Think about an aspirant who has spent two years preparing for a government examination. They may have left a job, joined a coaching programme, borrowed money for preparation or moved to another city. On the morning of the examination, they are ready to finally see the result of that effort. Later, news breaks that the paper was leaked and the examination may have to be cancelled. For the authorities, it becomes an investigation. For the student, it can feel like another year has disappeared.

There is also a financial cost that rarely gets enough attention. Application fees, coaching, books, online courses, accommodation, travel and repeated preparation all add up. Not every aspirant comes from a family that can comfortably afford another attempt. A student from a financially weaker background may have to choose between preparing again and finding work to support the family.

Then comes the question of trust. The basic idea behind a competitive examination is simple: candidates should receive the same paper under the same conditions and compete on their preparation. If some candidates get access to the paper beforehand, that basic understanding of fairness breaks down. Students begin wondering whether hard work is enough or whether connections and money matter more.

This is especially serious in India because government jobs remain highly sought after by young people. They offer stability, regular income and social security at a time when many private sector jobs can be uncertain. A limited number of vacancies can attract a huge number of applicants. When an examination is cancelled or delayed, the competition does not disappear. It simply becomes another round of waiting for the same young people.

The responsibility for protecting an examination cannot be placed on students. They have already done their part by studying and appearing for the test. Examination agencies need stronger security systems, careful handling of question papers, better monitoring and quick action when irregularities are reported. Investigations also need to reach the people responsible instead of leaving students to carry the consequences.

There also needs to be greater transparency after a suspected leak. Students deserve to know what happened, why an examination was cancelled and when the next examination will take place. Recruitment calendars should be as predictable as possible, especially when thousands of young people plan their lives around them.

A paper leak may look like a few pages reaching the wrong hands. For a student, the loss can be much larger. It can mean lost time, lost money, another year of preparation and another period of uncertainty.

India often speaks about merit and equal opportunity. Those words only have meaning when the system protects the people who earn their place through honest effort. Young people preparing for examinations are not asking for an easier competition. They are asking for a fair one.

The exam leak crisis is therefore more than a problem of examination security. It is a youth issue. Every leaked paper raises the same question: when the system fails, who pays the price? Too often, it is the student who studied honestly.

 (Jyotiraditya Singh is a Youth Leader and Social Activist associated with Youth Forum India. He writes on youth, education, employment and public policy issues, with a focus on giving young people a stronger voice in public conversations.)

The post The youth caught in the exam leak crisis appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Let me first clarify that I am not making a value judgement here. Nor am I pushing forward an argument that students of yesterday were avid readers, while students of the present time are an anti-knowledge lot.

To make such a sweeping generalisation, one would need to conduct a scientific study and take into consideration multiple factors. On the occasion of Teachers’ Day, I simply want to share my own experience—something that has been troubling my mind.

One of the first major signs of the decline of reading culture is the disappearance of shops and stalls selling books, magazines, and newspapers. Even the Xerox shops around colleges and universities are now busy printing and photocopying documents to be submitted to the administration, rather than essays, articles, or relevant portions of books and magazines.

Even newspaper hawkers are hardly visible, not only around colleges in semi-rural areas but also at those located in district headquarters and cities. Around college and university campuses, what one mostly sees is the mushrooming growth of fast-food kiosks. Since the administrations are often unable to run the canteens properly, students have little choice but to go outside and eat junk food.

Inside the campus, library culture is also on the decline. One of the main reasons for this is the lack of library staff. Most of the library staff are contractual workers who are poorly paid. As a result, they often do not work there with a sense of commitment. Even among those who are working, many are not trained in library science. Nor are they sensitized to the needs of readers. The reading hall is also poorly maintained. The seating arrangements and lighting are inadequate. The books are not properly arranged, making it difficult for readers to access them.

However, the growing corruption within the publishing world has also infected our campuses. As a result, a large portion of the books purchased in recent years are simply garbage. Even in the journal sections, substandard journals are purchased while quality journals are often ignored. Everywhere, there are cuts in the budget, and even when money is spent, it is rarely spent on the welfare of students or the promotion of genuine academic activity.

The administration is happy to display this garbage on the shelves of the library in return for hefty kickbacks, while caring little about valuable books that are damaged by pests or due to neglect.

I do not know much about the complex rules and norms that determine how colleges and universities are ranked among the top institutes by government agencies. But my yardstick for judging whether a college or university is academically vibrant is very simple. Whenever I visit a new academic institution, I first try to visit its library because a well-attended library is a sign of a healthy academic environment.

While no bhajan (devotion) is possible without bhojan (food), I next visit the canteen inside the academic premises. A canteen not only provides food but also creates a space for interaction, debate, and discussion. I am sad to say that most universities and colleges cannot boast of having such a happening place. If there are a few such eateries, they are highly commercialised, serving mostly fast food. While the food may be ‘hot’ and ‘spicy’, the public culture there is dull and lifeless.

The shrinking democratic space is no less responsible for the declining reading culture. The administration is becoming more authoritarian day by day. The regime of security and surveillance is intensifying with each passing day. Even teachers often maintain a sense of superiority. Most teachers favour students who act meekly before them, touch their feet, and flatter them at every opportunity.

The caste network is also deeply pernicious on campuses. It is not a coincidence that the students or research scholars favoured by a teacher are often those who belong to his caste. While our teachers project themselves as the biggest “patriots” in public life, in their personal lives they often indulge in what can only be described as anti-national behaviour by practising caste-based discrimination.

Worse still, our educational campuses are not adequately sensitised to the needs and concerns of female students, religious minorities, and differently-abled people. The syllabus has been framed to glorify the past rather than to meet the needs of students in the present. Students from marginalised sections often find it difficult to relate to the course structure and feel alienated from the academic environment. The rise of majoritarianism and intolerance, along with the display of religiosity on campuses, has further alienated minorities.

Discussions and jokes in staff rooms and classrooms are often anti-women. The rampant misogyny prevalent on campuses makes women feel unsafe. Parents, too, often seize this opportunity to further control the freedom of their daughters.

The lack of student activism and the disappearance of debating and seminar culture are among the major reasons why students do not feel motivated to read. Often, student organisations are banned on campuses by the administration on the grounds that they are involved in violence. It is true that some student bodies have been involved in violent activities, and no one is arguing that they should not be held accountable for their misdeeds. But one also needs to recognise that banning student politics is not the solution to violence. Even elections are sometimes marred by violence, but no one argues that elections should be abolished.

Even the seminars held within campuses often fail to achieve their intended purpose. This has much to do with the relationship between funding agencies and the ideologies they seek to impose on the organisers. Seminars have now turned into occasions to facilitate politicians in power and echo the political lines of the establishment, without critically examining whether such policies are indeed framed in the public interest or merely serve vested interests. Since students and researchers are required to produce certificates of participation, they are often more concerned with obtaining the certificate and filling the chairs in the audience than with participating in any meaningful and fruitful discussion.

It is not only the academic spaces that are responsible; parents, too, often impose their own will on their children. We hardly find parents who facilitate their children in pursuing the goals of their choice. Most are in a hurry to see their children settle into high-salaried and secure jobs. Both at home and in our society, a person is often judged “successful” on the basis of how much wealth they have amassed, how trendy their clothes are, and how luxurious a car they drive.

The anti-intellectual environment at homes get extended into our academic spaces. The teachers hardly read. They have forgotten that a good teacher is the one who is first a student. The advancement in career is the bigger concern for the teachers rather than acting as the source of knowledge. They hardly speak on the pressing political issues because they want to remain in the good book of the establishment.

Even if our Constitution gives every citizen the fundamental right to freedom of speech, and the highest court of the country has held that dissent and criticism are integral parts of democracy, a large section of teachers have imposed self-censorship on themselves. They write only when they need papers for promotion, and most of these papers are poorly written and make little sense. Yet they get published as “research papers” because the authors pay publishers huge amounts of money.

Even in the staff room, teachers hardly discuss academic issues. The favourite gossip among male teachers is often about the clothes of their female colleagues, accompanied by rumours about their personal lives and sexual relationships. Worse still, many teachers are excessively flattering towards their seniors while being rude and dismissive towards their students.

All these factors contribute negatively to the lives of our young students. The smarter among them have come to realise that knowledge is not the first criterion for getting jobs in academia. That is why they spend a large amount of their energy flattering their teachers and developing networks with those in the administration and politics. Sensing that joining the political outfits of the ruling party is a more secure way of getting jobs, they are often too busy attending sectarian political programmes rather than spending time in the classroom and library.

Since a large number of students hardly read, they are unable to write. Whenever they turn up to submit their assignments, their writings are often copied and pasted from the internet. These are some of the more disturbing trends that I have noticed while working as a teacher. I do not know how these issues can be addressed. But if India has to excel in the field of knowledge and ensure that its democracy remains meaningful, policymakers cannot afford to ignore these questions.

(Dr Abhay Kumar teaches Political Science. His recently published book is Muslim Personal Law: Definitions, Sources and Contestations (Manohar, 2026). Email: debatingissues@gmail.com)

The post Why are reading habits among Indian students declining? appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Bhardwaj was traced to Bulandshahr in Uttar Pradesh and detained by a Delhi Police Crime Branch team on September 4 afternoon, hours after representatives of the CJP, Nishu Azad, Congress workers and MPs Chandrashekhar Azad and Pappu Yadav gathered at the police station demanding action. The detention followed a FIR and police assurance to the protesting delegation that Bhardwaj would be arrested within 72 hours. He was detained by UP police.

Finally, Delhi Police have registered an FIR against the Sanghi goon and said he will be arrested within 72 hours.

It took two months and a protest just to get an FIR registered for a hate crime that happened right in front of the police.

POLICE DEPARTMENT THIK KARO!

— Abhijeet Dipke (@abhijeet_dipke) September 4, 2026

#Announcement

From Day 1, we have not let any student or protester fight this battle alone.

Nishu’s father Sanjay ji’s case is harrowing. Gang members like Swatantra Bhardwaj are openly flaunting that they attempted murder on Sanjay ji who was simply peacefully protesting…

— Saurav Das (@SauravDassss) September 3, 2026

According to The Indian Express, the police team traced Bhardwaj to Bulandshahr after he travelled there earlier in the day. The Times of India reported that he had stayed at a local resident’s house in Naithla village and left on a motorcycle after his presence became known. Police subsequently tracked him down and took him into custody. The detention came after Bhardwaj himself appeared in a widely circulated podcast discussing the alleged assault and claiming that political connections had helped him avoid jail.

The case began at a CJP protest at Jantar Mantar

The controversy began during a CJP protest at Jantar Mantar, where Nishu Azad, then a 14-year-old student protester, was participating. Her father, Sanjay Kumar, was at the protest site when a confrontation allegedly broke out. According to the FIR-based account reported in the material provided, Kumar was recording the proceedings on his phone when he was questioned by a young man about making a video. An argument followed, after which two or three people allegedly joined in and assaulted him. Kumar alleged that he was punched on the head and struck with a kada or bracelet-like object.

He was taken to RML Hospital for treatment. The medical record referred to two deep wounds on his head. Lawyer Feroz Gama, who said he witnessed the incident, told The Indian Express that he took Kumar to hospital and that Kumar received stitches for his injuries. The precise nature of the injuries subsequently became one of the central points of dispute in the case.

While Kumar’s supporters and CJP described the assault as serious, Delhi Police said the injuries were simple in nature. Police rejected claims that Kumar had suffered a skull fracture and said that the injury was caused during a scuffle involving the kada worn by one of the accused, as reported by The Indian Express.

Detailed reports on brute force used by police on the protestors may be read here, here, here and here.

Bhardwaj was initially detained—but not arrested

The first police response to the alleged assault became one of the most troubling aspects of the case. Delhi Police said Swatantra Bhardwaj and another accused, Suraj Kumar, were detained at the protest site, questioned and served notices. But after that, they were not arrested and were allowed to remain out of custody while the case proceeded.

For Nishu Azad’s family and CJP, that was not an adequate response to an alleged assault that had left her father with serious head injuries. The question they raised was straightforward: if the accused had been identified and detained at the scene, why was there no immediate custodial action? And why did the initial FIR omit the SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act despite the family’s demand that the caste dimension of the alleged attack be formally recognised?

देखिए, स्वतंत्र भारद्वाज अपना बचाव इस तरह कर रहे थे पापा के सर पर कड़ा मरते हुए सेल्फ डिफेंस कर रहे हैं स्वतंत्र.. pic.twitter.com/DkB6geSsHl

— Nishu Aazad (@Nishuazad11) September 4, 2026

A podcast puts the case back in the spotlight

The case returned to the headlines after excerpts from a lengthy podcast featuring Bhardwaj began circulating widely. In the interview, Bhardwaj appeared to speak about the confrontation with Sanjay Kumar and claimed that he had “cracked” his skull. He also spoke about how he had not been jailed after the incident. Notably, he invoked the names of political figures while describing his connections. Bhardwaj referred to Delhi minister Kapil Mishra and Union minister Chirag Paswan as “elder brothers” and also invoked Prime Minister Narendra Modi while speaking about his political support.

वीडियो में साफ़ सुन सकते हैं कि स्वतंत्र भारद्वाज खुद अपने किए की बात कबूल कर रहा है। दिल्ली पुलिस को इससे ज्यादा क्या सबूत चाहिए? अब कानून के तहत सख्त कार्रवाई होनी चाहिए।@DelhiPolice @PSParliamentSt @ChandrashekharAzad @RahulGandhi#स्वतंत्रभारद्वाज #DelhiPolice #Justice pic.twitter.com/Zn9dQnjSu4

— Nishu Aazad (@Nishuazad11) September 5, 2026

When demands for his arrest started being made, Bhardwaj later disputed his own words. He claimed that he had acted in self-defence after being surrounded by a group of people and said his references to political leaders were sarcastic. Delhi Police, too, rejected allegations that political pressure had prevented his arrest. But the video fundamentally changed the public conversation around the case.

The allegations were no longer based only on what the victim, witnesses or protesters said had happened. The accused himself had publicly discussed the confrontation and his alleged political connections, creating a fresh basis for demands that the police revisit the matter.

CJP takes the issue back to the police station

CJP responded by organising a fresh protest outside the Parliament Street police station. The organisation’s representatives Saurav Das and Ashutosh Ranka, along with supporters, went to the police station demanding Bhardwaj’s arrest and stronger charges. CJP had been involved from the beginning because the alleged assault took place during its protest. The organisation’s campaign subsequently became the mechanism through which the demand for police action was kept alive after the initial detention and release of the accused.

CJP demanded the addition of provisions relating to attempt to murder, criminal intimidation and the SC/ST Act. It also raised the issue of threats and online abuse directed at Nishu following the controversy. The protest brought Nishu and her father back to the police station as well.

@Cockroachisback @SauravDassss @AshutoshRanka A special thank you to you both as well for providing us with such strong and capable lawyers who are working hard to make our case as strong as possible. Me and my father truly appreciate your support…

— Nishu Aazad (@Nishuazad11) September 4, 2026

Congress joins Nishu and CJP

The mobilisation soon widened beyond CJP. Indian Youth Congress Delhi president Akshay Lakra joined Nishu at the police station and demanded action against Bhardwaj. Congress also provided legal assistance. According to the reports, the AICC legal department deputed a team of lawyers led by Rishabh Ranjan to assist Nishu and her family with the matter. The legal intervention focused not only on the assault case but also on the threats allegedly directed at Nishu after the incident.

मेरे बुरे वक़्त में मुझे जान से मारने की धमकी मिल रही थी उस समय मेरे साथ एवेंजर्स की तरह साथ देने वाले एडवोकेट्स, उनकी पूरी टीम को धन्यवाद
Sr Adv & Member of Parliament Shri @DrAMSinghvi Sir & AICC Law Dept
Ayesha, @Lawyermdkhan @omarhoda46@rishav_ranjan18 @akshaylakra17 & ors

— Nishu Aazad (@Nishuazad11) September 5, 2026

मुझे आशा नहीं थी कि @RahulGandhi जी की सच में ट्वीट करेंगे अब मुझे राहुल गांधी जी जैसे बड़े नेता का साथ मिल चुका है अब मुझे न्याय मिल कर रहेगा और स्वतंत्र भारद्वाज जेल जाकर रहेंगे.. https://t.co/t055GHxOAY

— Nishu Aazad (@Nishuazad11) September 3, 2026

This became an increasingly important part of the case because Nishu said she had faced rape threats, abuse and online harassment, including the circulation of objectionable or morphed images. She said the harassment had affected her education and that she had stopped attending school for several weeks.

Chandrashekhar Azad and Pappu Yadav join the protest

The protest then drew two opposition MPs. Chandrashekhar Azad, Nagina MP and president of the Azad Samaj Party, reached Parliament Street police station and joined the delegation. He questioned why Bhardwaj had not been arrested despite the video in which he appeared to discuss the alleged assault. Azad also raised the threats allegedly directed at Nishu, including threats of rape, acid attack and death.

मेरे @BhimArmyChief बड़े भाई ने जिस तरह से मेरा हाथ पकड़ा है ना हमें उससे कोई मतलब नहीं है कि मेरे बड़े भाई मेरे साथ है, आखिरी दम तक साथ खड़े है.. pic.twitter.com/CxYLf6k7qy

— Nishu Aazad (@Nishuazad11) September 4, 2026

Pappu Yadav, the Independent MP from Purnia, subsequently joined the protesters and sat with them outside the police station. He spoke about violence against women and Dalits and held up the Constitution while demanding action. Their involvement marked a significant expansion of the mobilisation: what had begun as CJP’s campaign over an alleged assault during its protest was now being taken up directly by elected representatives.

बीजेपी का आतंकी स्वतंत्र भारद्वाज को बंदी
बनाने से ही न्याय नहीं होगा बल्कि, उसे स्पीडी
ट्रायल से उम्र क़ैद भी हो!

वहीं उसे बीजेपी सरकार में किस-किस का
संरक्षण प्राप्त है, गृह मंत्री अमित शाह समेत
सबकी जांच होकर उन पर कठोर कार्रवाई हो! pic.twitter.com/gN2tygKwrl

— Rajesh Ranjan Pappu Yadav (@pappuyadavjapl) September 4, 2026

The New Indian Express reported that the CJP delegation, joined by Chandrashekhar Azad and Pappu Yadav, demanded both the attempt-to-murder and SC/ST Act provisions and an FIR over the threats allegedly made against Nishu.

Police add the SC/ST Act and other provisions

After negotiations at the police station, Delhi Police agreed to add provisions under the SC/ST Act to the case. The police also added provisions relating to criminal intimidation and other offences under the BNS. The question of attempt to murder was more complicated. Police indicated that the applicability of the provision would have to be assessed in light of the medical evidence and investigation into the nature of Kumar’s injuries. This was an important shift from the police’s initial position.

The police had earlier described Kumar’s injury as simple and rejected claims of a skull fracture. After the renewed protest, however, the FIR was expanded to include the SC/ST Act and additional criminal provisions.

A separate FIR was also registered after Nishu complained about the threats and online harassment she had allegedly received. The new case invoked provisions of the POCSO Act, along with BNS provisions and Section 67 of the Information Technology Act.

Nishu asks for protection

As the protest continued, Nishu also raised concerns about her own safety. She said she did not know when or where she could be attacked and asked for protection for herself and her family. Hindustan Times reported her concern that she was living under a continuing threat after the controversy surrounding the assault and the subsequent online abuse.

Her position became an important part of the renewed campaign because the case had by then moved beyond the alleged assault on her father. It had expanded into allegations of intimidation and sexual threats against a teenage protester herself.

It was at this stage that Rahul Gandhi, Leader of the Opposition in the Lok Sabha, publicly intervened. Nishu had appealed to Gandhi for support, saying that she had lost faith in the police response. Gandhi responded publicly, assuring her that she should not panic and that he stood with her. He questioned why Bhardwaj remained free despite the statements attributed to him in the viral video.

निशु, घबराने की ज़रूरत नहीं है। मैं तुम्हारे साथ हूँ।

साफ है कि तुम्हें इसलिए निशाना बनाया गया क्योंकि तुम अपने समुदाय और छात्रों के हक़ की आवाज़ उठाती हो।

अमित शाह की दिल्ली पुलिस एक तरफ़ छात्रों के साथ अमानवीय बर्बरता करती है। दूसरी तरफ़ एक दलित लड़की के पिता का सिर फोड़ने… https://t.co/m1mgH655hw

— Rahul Gandhi (@RahulGandhi) September 3, 2026

Gandhi also directly questioned Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Home Minister Amit Shah about the alleged political protection claimed by Bhardwaj. His intervention brought the case substantially greater national political attention.

Support also came from across political parties, with the Aam Aadmi Party, Samajwadi Party and Trinamool Congress questioning the alleged political protection being claimed by Bhardwaj.

आज कौशांबी के समाजवादी पार्टी सांसद @Pushpendra_MP_ जी से बात हुई। उन्होंने हर संभव साथ देने की बात कही, जिसके लिए उनका हृदय से बहुत-बहुत धन्यवाद। pic.twitter.com/TMG5L25ljW

— Nishu Aazad (@Nishuazad11) September 5, 2026

@RahulGandhi @BhimArmyChief @yadavakhilesh @ArvindKejriwal @CJP_for_India
Thankk uuu so muchh pic.twitter.com/bY5c3y1fvf

— Nishu Aazad (@Nishuazad11) September 3, 2026

Chirag Paswan files his own complaint

The political claims made by Bhardwaj also prompted a response from one of the people he had named. Union Minister and Lok Janshakti Party (Ram Vilas) chief Chirag Paswan filed a complaint with the Parliament Street police against Bhardwaj, objecting to the alleged misuse of his name.

As reported by The Hindu, Paswan’s complaint sought an FIR and strict action against Bhardwaj and asked that it be formally recorded that neither Paswan nor the LJP (Ram Vilas) had any connection with him or with the incident. Paswan said that Bhardwaj had falsely invoked his name to create an impression of political protection and called for an impartial investigation.

Have you observed this disturbing pattern? The more you abuse Muslims, target Dalits, spew hatred make derogatory remarks about a community and sexualize women, the more access you seem to get to the top leaders of a particular ideology. Unfortunately, Such conduct is rewarded… https://t.co/TaCINb4Nlm pic.twitter.com/HxpCShegug

— Mohammed Zubair (@zoo_bear) September 3, 2026

Police trace him to Bulandshahr

While the political and public pressure was mounting in Delhi, police began looking for Bhardwaj. He had travelled to Bulandshahr, where reports said he stayed with a local resident in Naithla village.

According to India Today, Bhardwaj fled the village after police began looking for him. The Times of India reported that he left on a motorcycle after media attention around his presence increased. Police teams eventually traced him and detained him.

The Indian Express reported that Crime Branch officers took him into custody at around 2 pm on Friday. The arrest/detention therefore came on the same day as the CJP-led mobilisation at Parliament Street.

Related:

Maharashtra’s schools are struggling to survive as students protest, infrastructure crumbles and Marathi-medium institutions disappear

After NEET protests ended, the battle moved online: Women protesters face threats, doxing and criminalisation

Bihar: Not just Delhi, Patna, Siwan too saw brute police violence against demonstrating students: PUCL

Maharashtra: After backlash, govt. moves to withdraw FIRs against student protesters but questions remain

Water Cannons Instead of Answers: Bihar’s recruitment crisis and the state’s crackdown on protest

Amnesty Investigation finds unlawful and deadly force against CJP-led protesters in Delhi and Siwan

The Supreme Court’s Uneasy Middle Path on Protest Policing

Governments begin rolling back cases against protesters, but questions over violence, arrests and accountability remain

July 2026: A dissent that was brutally put down, a crackdown after the protest ended

The post Days of Demands, Hours of Protest: Swatantra Bhardwaj finally detained in assault case appeared first on SabrangIndia.

It was hardly two weeks since Jason Arday’s ordeal, which resulted in his suicide- I am rather inclined to term it systemic murder of marginalised bodies. When another Google search, returned with the headline, another IIT student allegedly committed suicide, at what is purportedly the country’s most ‘meritocratic shop’, producing efficient docile bodies for the neoliberal industry!

The recurrence of suicides across IITs compels a question: what makes a student at an institute celebrated as a guarantor of upward economic and social mobility take their own life? Possibly, the explanation lies not within the student at all; rather, the institution itself becomes the focal lens of our inquiry.

Why are these campuses becoming deathscapes?

At dawn on a Saturday in August, a second-year M.Sc. student took his life at IIT Delhi. His suicide stirred the same question that each lost life before his has opened- Is it the institutional environment of the IITs that produces this recurrence?

Recurrence of Suicide:

According to the statistics compiled by independent trackers, drawing on partial government data, records a staggering 160 suicides across IITs within the past two decades. The recent ruling by the Central Information Commission (CIC) flagged a persistent crisis of suicides across IIT campuses. At IIT Delhi alone, eight students have died by suicide in the past two and a half years, roughly once every fourth month at this institution. Nationally, IIT Kharagpur and IIT Kanpur, the notorious ones, have been designated “concentration zones” owing to the high intensity of cases, alongside other premier institutes such as IISC Bangalore.

The rate of recurrence sprouts a question about the institutional experience of students who lost their lives. IITs as institutions invested in the fraught ideal of meritocracy, often function as competitive, toxic workplaces obsessed with productivity optimisation. The institutional environment of IIT needs to be viewed through this framework, in which intense academic pressure, coupled with social burden, creates conditions in which a student’s worth is seen as inseparable from their academic performance.

It is worth stressing that this burden isn’t evenly distributed nor does it reflect the collective institutional experience among students. The vulnerability gets compounded for students specifically hailing from marginalised social locations. Besides the relentless scholarly strain, they also carry the burden of representation- the weight of representing their community in a space that was never designed keeping them in mind. Caste, class and institution isolation intersect here, making the burden heavier. Therefore, framing this as a uniform institutional experience would inadvertently obscure those at greater risk. Each of these deaths lays bare the underlying reality of institutional negligence, the absence of robust student support systems, and the conditions students are left alone to endure. This isn’t merely an anomaly, it points to the long trend of “administrative lapses”, a refusal by universities to acknowledge these deaths as a systemic problem, and a corresponding negligence in curbing further deaths.

The Language of Evasion:

Media treatment of these suicides often frames this recurrence as a consequence of a “chain reaction”, the idea that one student’s suicide triggers suicidal ideation in another with pre-existing suicidal ideation. “Unofficially we are not supposed to discuss it amongst ourselves. Officially everyone knows, as if silence doesn’t spread just as fast, and trigger just as much”, Adarsh*, revealed an IIT student, characterising an undercurrent which runs through whisper networks. Beneath this, as an unofficial and incognito practice, students are advised to refrain from discussing suicide on campus, stemming from fear of “suicide contagion”. Though the clinical validity of this practice is questionable, the social effect of this approach does succeed in suppressing the conversation around this phenomenon, thus concomitantly aiding the institution evade confrontation. Even the administrative responses are composed in a deflecting register. Every death follows the same customary email template, under the header, “Sad news”, a performance of concern that changes nothing, while actively obscuring institutional accountability narratives. Further, the pattern of vocabulary across institutions deploying phrases such as “isolated incident”, “mental health” and “committee formed” remains consistent. This language reduces structural issues into a pathological and an individual predisposition.

Suicide cannot be adequately understood as a purely individual or psychological phenomenon. Notwithstanding the solitary nature of the act itself, the degree to which an individual experiences a sense of belonging, connectedness, and social integration constitutes as equally significant determinants. When this integration weakens, or when the society’s moral framework becomes either too rigid or too loose, a state of crisis unfolds within an individual. Institutions do not merely create rules; they actively structure an individual’s perception of the self and of success and failure. These normative rules constitute the very persona of the “successful individual”.

At the IITs, this image resonates with extraordinary intelligence, relentless competitiveness, and interminable productivity optimisation, all without exhibiting any vulnerability. A student’s failure to live up to this created image is not read as failure of the system, but as a matter of personal inadequacy. It’s framing as an individual’s inadequacy makes the pressure so effective, thereby requiring no external enforcement. The internalisation by students towards relentlessly performing and optimizing themselves, becomes both the source of pressure and its target. Academic competition curdles into self-exploitation, where any inadequacy towards meeting these high-academic standards is experienced as a moral and existential failure of the self, never as a flaw in the standard itself. Thus, the individual becomes the site of issue, their personal dejection becomes the victim, while the institution remains unquestioned.

Speaking of the recent death, when a death is coded as mental illness rather than the outcome of institutional negligence, issues such as “denial of hostel facilities”, “denied major academic project” never come close to being registered as evidence of a structural pattern. In the wider frame, explaining such a crisis through individualisation escapes scrutiny of deeper machineries such as the graded caste hierarchy and class inequality. These deaths aren’t mere idiosyncrasies; they’re better understood as failures of a system infused with institutional apathy. With regard to the structural pattern, there’s another dormant failure compounding the individualisation narrative: the absence of a standardised, consistent national database tracking students’ suicide across IITs. The existing data from the Supreme Court, Parliament, or the Ministry of Education are fragmented and mutually inconsistent, with figures either overlapping or spanning different timeframes. The very state apparatus meant to hold these institutions accountable is operating in the absence of a stable object of knowledge. This form of instability isn’t merely a clerical failure; it puts the political class in an uncomfortable position. Taken together, the individualisation narrative and the absence of reliable data reflect the practice of evasion by both the state and its institutions.

Fracturing the culture:

The culture of protest at IIT Delhi isn’t ordinary. It is highly unusual for IIT students to ruffle the administration’s feathers with this kind of agonistic confrontation, since the fear ingrained in the students here is deeply structural, not incidental. Any dissent has historically carried consequences, sometimes strained relationships with supervisors, rigged academic records, or being unofficially marked as an “unserious” student. Oftentimes, the culture of being indifferent to injustices within these institutions also emanates from the fear of getting penalised.  This suppression, and the fear of being labelled, has long dissuaded any dissent from emerging at all. The silence over this many deaths can plausibly be attributed to why these suicides became routine, rather than rupture. Yet this protest cannot be read in isolation, it also shares the wider wave of dissent witnessed across the state in recent months.  Weeks earlier, the nationwide protest drew the same generation onto the streets, ferreting accountability towards the precarious state of the Indian education system. The scale of mobilisation followed by Hrishikesh’s death is something that none earlier deaths within IIT, in recent memory, has produced.

The sloganeering of “Investigation, Compensation, and Resignation”, by the student collective in the Lecture Hall of IIT Delhi speaks to a demand for redistributive justice, from the administration to recognize these deaths as failure of institutions. In doing so, it has succeeded in rekindling the demand for institutional accountability from the institutions, in which earlier deaths, despite their recurrence, remained absent from public discourse. The protest extends beyond symbolic administrative fixes towards challenging the structural flaws persisting within the system. Beyond individual diagnosis, redistributive justice here would require adequately funded mental health personnel, not the faculty sporting a counsellor label, mandatory compensation for the deceased’s family, and ensuring faculty diversity proportionate to student diversity within committees. Such demands challenge the system to rethink and requisition the existing mechanisms and their speculation in academic spaces, which are deemed sufficient once the pressure becomes overwhelming.

According to Hrishikesh’s mother’s account, shared publicly during the protest, the deceased who lost his father years ago, had been battling mental health issues, previously been hospitalised for the same and later resumed his studies. He had also confided in the counsellor at the institute about his struggles. In the time since, he was denied “a major academic project under his supervisor, “denied hostel facilities”, due to his mental health illness. These facts reflect the administrative indifference shown towards his distress, despite having sought support from what the institute offers. When an institution flags a student as “severely depressive”, or exhibiting “suicidal ideation”, this identification should be followed by institutional duty of care, rather than employing this diagnostic function to depriving the student of essential amenities and pushing them towards further precarity. This scenario, in its most precise sense, is the institutional betrayal the deceased went through.

The larger question is, not merely to counsel students to survive within these institutions, but to confront the relentless culture of self-optimisation, and other structural harms such as caste-based discrimination, class inequality, and cultural alienation. Counselling isn’t the panacea for student’s survival, no specific remedy is, least of all counselling alone. Institutional redressal mechanisms such as counselling and campus wellness centres cannot mitigate the kind of distress manufactured by the institution themselves. Placing such mechanisms equivalent to addressing academic pressure silently shifts the blame onto the student’s incapacity to cope, rather than introspecting into conditions they are expected to cope within. It is worth situating this issue in a wider frame. When in a hyper neoliberal environment, where job markets are contracting, mental health concerns are soaring, even meritocratic showcase institutions such as IITs are no longer reliably delivering the economic security it once seems promising, it is worth laying out briefly here to not read these deaths as outcome of individual inadequacy, but these vulnerabilities as produced by the society itself. These deaths are often accumulated results of adverse conditions infused within the institutions.

*Adarsh (name changed for the reasons of maintaining anonymity of the respondent) is a scholar at IIT Delhi who shared his experience of being in the institute following a student’s suicide.

(The author is a second-year PhD scholar at the Centre for the Study of Law and Governance, Jawaharlal Nehru University. Her doctoral research examines the student suicide crisis in higher educational institutions in India, with a particular focus on caste-based structural discrimination as a contributing factor)

Related:

67 suicides in central institutes of higher learning despite 80 % claiming SC/ST cells for “assistance”

Another student, belonging to the Scheduled Caste community, dies by suicide in IIT

SC deems caste-based discrimination in higher education system to be a ‘very sensitive matter’

Lessons Unlearned: Nine years after the Thorat Committee report

The Death of Merit: Dalit Suicides in institutes of higher learning

Systemic Prejudice, Absence of Grievance Redressal reasons for Dalit Suicides: Teacher Testimonies

A letter that should shake our world: Dalit scholar suicide triggers outrage

Rohith Vemula’s ‘institutional murder’: Five years on, family and friends still wait for justice

REPLUG: Rohith Vemula, Your Sacrifice was Not in Vain

“Highly appalling to see SIT ignoring rank caste discrimination Darshan faced despite overwhelming evidence”: Ramesh Solanki

IIT Bombay Dalit student death: Dr Bhalchandra Mungekar, ex Rajya Sabha member, demands SIT probe into his death 

Mumbai Dharna for Darshan Solanki makes calls for law against caste discrimination

The post The Normalisation of Suicide at IITs: Institutional blindness and failure appeared first on SabrangIndia.

The contemporary economic crisis, dangerously hollowed out middle classes and mounting unemployment (of their children) has brought Indian youth to the brink of becoming Weary Generations (udaas naslein), an expression used by the Urdu novelist, Abdullah Husain (1931-2015), for the generation wasted in Partition, violence, migration and traumatic displacement.

How does one then place or read the energies and fearlessness of the present upsurge be it in Bihar, UP, Delhi or Mumbai? It is not just these seemingly apolitical mobilisations but also smaller left formations (AISA, SFI) that have sustained protests, a) spoken and highlighted education and access for all b) examined structural failures, yes, but also lack of voice and representation c) refused to be black-holed into the Hindu-Muslim paradigm d) broken through a paralysis of fear; e) while in Delhi and Mumbai these may have been dominated by a class difficult for the far right to pigeonhole, in Bihar they are subaltern students. Plus, a protest by Adivasi/tribal students in Maharashtra reached a successful end (though they had been fasting for over 47 days) after Leader of Opposition Rahul Gandhi highlighted their demands. LOP Gandhi speaking of withdrawing criminal cases, getting an FIR lodged, and speaking on youth issues of access and social justice together show how the narrative is for once not being dominated by the regime. The icing on the cake is the union government’s concrete withdrawal of FIRs against many/most if not all the protesters.

Global history demonstrates that youth energy in times of crisis takes one of two distinct paths: violent criminal implosion or revolutionary democratic renewal. In May 1968, France witnessed an explosive student movement that began on university campuses like Nanterre and Sorbonne. French students did not merely demand educational reforms; they linked arms with the working class, paralysed a Gaullist state, and fundamentally reshaped modern European political consciousness through raw democratic assertion. Conversely, where youth energy is denied legitimate political expression and institutional avenues of dissent, it devolves into structural criminality. In 20th-century Sicily (in Italy), the complete absence of democratic avenues for youth advancement permitted underworld gangsterism to swallow an entire generation—a social decay famously captured in Mario Puzo’s literary studies of omertà, patronage, and syndicate power.

Indian campuses today stand precariously at these very crossroads. The current stagnation stands in sharp contrast to the analytical framework established by Philip Altbach in his books, Turmoil and Transition: Higher Education and Student Politics in India (1968) and Student Politics in India (1972). Altbach demonstrated that students in developing democracies operate as a vital “incipient elite” and a primary political conscience. Unencumbered by institutional vested interests, they function as a catalyst for broader societal democratization. This theoretical reality materialised during the 1960s and 1970s across northern and western India. The Navnirman Movement in Gujarat in 1973–1974 began over price hikes in university canteens and escalated into a mass agitation that dissolved the state legislative assembly. Shortly after, the Bihar Movement of 1974, spearheaded by student leaders under Jayaprakash Narayan (1902-1979), directly challenged state authoritarianism and catalysed the nationwide opposition that eventually defeated Congress rule in 1977, after the Emergency (1975-77).

The anti-Congress political forces that seized state power on the back of these youth mobilisations recognized a key reality: an organised, democratically elected student body is an unpredictable, counter-hegemonic force. Consequently, once in power, the anti-Congress and regional regimes (communal reactionaries, single caste, personalized, dynastic and champions of identity-based divisive political forces) systematically disarmed the very machinery that elevated them. Province after province, most notably Uttar Pradesh, campus elections have been suspended across state universities for years, banning, curbing, or neutering Students’ Unions.

Crucially, this structural paralysis of student democracy was not merely a post-2014 phenomenon under the BJP regime; key policy frameworks that enabled this containment were set in motion earlier, notably under UPA-II through the implementation of the Lyngdoh Committee recommendations. As Albeena Shakil highlights in Economic and Political Weekly (2008), the Lyngdoh Committee was constituted following Supreme Court orders to frame guidelines on student union elections—focusing on ‘curbing criminalisation’, ensuring financial transparency, and setting eligibility criteria. However, the committee’s recommendations introduced rigid constraints, such as a maximum age limit of 28 years for research scholars and restricting candidates from contesting office-bearer positions more than once.

The fundamental flaw in this approach was its mechanical, uniform enforcement across vastly different universities without accounting for their specific institutional characters. The Lyngdoh Committee report itself explicitly acknowledged the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) model as an exemplary “model to be followed”—a peaceful, direct election process conducted entirely by students through an independent, elected Student Election Committee without administrative interference, money, or muscle power. Yet, despite JNU’s flawless democratic track record, the Supreme Court stayed the JNUSU elections in 2008 on technical procedural grounds like the candidate age limits and re-contesting of posts. By imposing arbitrary eligibility constraints and administrative control over a self-regulated, highly participatory student democracy, the policy environment under UPA-II severely weakened the capacity of student bodies to function as independent, capably led representative unions.

To understand how youth energy is absorbed in the absence of democratic representation, Craig Jeffrey’s 2009 essay on Meerut University, Fixing Futures: Educated Unemployment, Youth, and Politics in North India, provides the necessary framework. Jeffrey demonstrates how structural unemployment converts campuses into waiting rooms. Deprived of representative unions to bargain collectively against systemic failures, young people are forced into individual survival mechanisms. They become fixers (jugaad intermediaries, or brokers, dalals), trading political compliance for minor administrative concessions or informal rents. The failure of contemporary campuses to rise up in the style of global youth protests or digital mobilisations is not due to apathy; it is the direct structural result of an environment where collective bargaining has been replaced by atomised patronage networks akin to the Sicilian boss-client relationship.

This suppression of student democracy occurs alongside a mounting crisis of economic precarity backed by grim statistical realities. Data from the International Labour Organization (ILO) and the Institute for Human Development (IHD) India Employment Report reveals that educated youth bear the brunt of the nation’s job crisis. Youths account for nearly 83% of the total unemployed workforce in India, with the unemployment rate for university graduates standing at an astonishing 29.1%—nearly nine times higher than for those without formal schooling. Furthermore, the Periodic Labour Force Survey (PLFS) metrics continuously highlight that urban youth unemployment hovers at elevated levels between 13.6% and 14.3%, while roughly 90% of employed youth are pushed into informal, unprotected work. Despite holding degrees, millions of graduates remain trapped in underemployment, gig work, or endless competitive exam preparation. Yet, because campuses lack elected Students’ Unions to channel this systemic frustration into organised political demands, this massive reservoir of youth precarity remains politically inert, barring the latest ongoing movements. India, like the Germany of the 1930s, is on the brink of driving the unemployed youth and the campuses towards political extremism, crime, and murderous narco-culture.

Compounding this crisis is the wholesale capture of university governing bodies by pliant, regime-acolyte administrators and accomplishment-deficient academics. In his scathing critique of Indian higher education, Asking for Trouble: Crises with a Meaning (1984), veteran educationist Amrik Singh (d. 2010) laid bare how the Indian university system was being subverted from within by weak administrative leadership and corrupt appointments. Decades later, in the mid-2020s, Amrik Singh’s earlier warnings have metastasized into absolute reality. A knowledge campus must be led by scholars of recognised distinction, who exercise moral and inspirational influence upon the students. Instead, the internal governing bodies of Indian universities, such as Executive Councils, Academic Councils, Selection Committees, and Vice-Chancellorships, have been stuffed with under-accomplished, pliant, sycophantic individuals whose primary credential is ideological compliance and administrative servitude to the ruling political apparatus.

Across state and central universities, appointments to the highest academic offices routinely bypass scholars with high citation indices, major research monographs, or international peer recognition. Instead, pliant, regime-acolyte Vice-Chancellors with minimal publication records and negligible scholarly impact are installed as political commissars. To maintain their illegitimate control, these Vice-Chancellors surround themselves with similarly under-accomplished internal academics, who function as key collaborators and administrative fixers. Selection panels are shamelessly rigged to bypass highly cited, productive researchers in favour of candidates whose sole qualification is political alignment. Consequently, statutory bodies intended to protect academic freedom are transformed into rubber-stamp committees that penalize dissenting faculty, manipulate recruitment, and ignore systemic corruption.

This institutional decay manifests in distinct ways across major, historic, residential and state-funded campuses, illustrating the stark difference between passive compliance and active resistance.

At the Aligarh Muslim University (AMU), an internal administrative oligarchy has long controlled key university apparatuses. With the prolonged absence of elected student union checks, a small network of senior teacher-administrators has maintained an unchallenged hold over the campus. This environment has allowed serious institutional irregularities to persist—ranging from a huge fee scam, illegal annual increments, illegal placements in the Old Pension Scheme (OPS), and financial opacities in civil construction contracts to administrative nepotism, the illegal retention of perks, unauthorized security deployment, and questionable pension schemes. Rather than challenging these abuses, executive bodies and elected teacher associations have largely chosen silence. At the same time, they offer instant, sharp, and unparliamentary reactions against internal whistle-blowers who expose the internal rot of the administration as well as elected bodies. The narrative-setting elites among Muslims rally desperately to fight for the minority status of AMU, but go silent on rampant irregularities within the very university of theirs. Further, they don’t mobilise themselves with equal alacrity and enthusiasm on other issues of social and gender justice, caste exclusions and economic grievances.

To make things far worse, this specific kind of minority-ism finds support from Left-Liberals. Operating under an unwritten code of Omertà, reminiscent of the institutionalized silence of Sicilian mafia structures depicted in Mario Puzo’s novels, they shield administrative failures under the pretext of protecting institutional identity from external hostility. In AMU this code of Omertà is turned into a more dangerous tool. Internal whistle-blowers are hounded, maligned, vilified, and humiliated by plunderers disguising as men of religiosity. They play dangerous politics of demonstrative religiosity and piety, giving a drum-beating clarion call of “Qaum in danger”. It is an open secret among campus insiders that these very demonstrably and instrumentally “pious” Muslim minority professors queue up in large numbers before Sangh functionaries running the Rashtriya Muslim Manch, intending to become Vice Chancellors (Felix Pal, 2020, offers an insight as to why Muslims join it), even while surreptitiously instigating common Muslim youth that the incumbent regime is rabidly anti-Muslim.

Globally too, Peter Fleming’s 2021 book, Dark Academia: How Universities Die, rightly diagnoses that with the neo-liberalisation of higher education over the last 20 years, universities have been turned into psychological hells for professionally committed academics.

Yet, despite all these odds, the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) demonstrates how active representation can disrupt administrative opacity. On August 13, 2026, the JNU Teachers’ Association (JNUTA), alongside the elected JNU Students’ Union (JNUSU), held a joint press conference at New Delhi’s Press Club of India. Rather than hiding inner ills, they publicly detailed administrative irregularities, arbitrary changes to promotion guidelines, and compromised recruitment procedures enforced by the university executive. Despite facing intense administrative pressure, the presence of an elected student union—built on JNU’s long-standing tradition of self-managed student democracy that survived even the legal curbs of the Lyngdoh recommendations—allowed JNU to maintain a counter-hegemonic force against administrative overreach.

The tragedy of contemporary Indian public universities is an existential crisis of purpose. When campuses are stripped of democratic unions, handed over to regime-acolyte Vice-Chancellors, and silenced by co-opted faculty collaborators, they cease to function as spaces of higher learning and degenerate into administrative fiefdoms. Indian youth stand at a decisive crossroads: to remain passive captives within waiting rooms of managed mediocrity, or to reclaim the historic mantle of May 1968. Reclaiming the university requires breaking the institutional code of silence, ousting unaccomplished administrative syndicates, restoring elected Students’ Unions, and transforming quiet frustration into organised political agitation. Of course, ignoring or delaying the task of employment creation is absolutely unaffordable for India at this point of time.

[The author, a Professor teaches Modern and Contemporary History at Aligarh Muslim University. His X-handle is: @sajjadhist]

Related:

NEET Protests: Supreme Court ends criminal proceedings against students across India

Maharashtra’s schools are struggling to survive as students protest, infrastructure crumbles and Marathi-medium institutions disappear

‘We Cannot Be Afraid’: Rhiya Ahir in Conversation with Teesta Setalvad

The post Closing of the Indian Mind: Campus subjugation, intellectual mediocrity, & death of democratic assertion appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Dalit, Adivasi, rural and economically disadvantaged communities have repeatedly raised these concerns, often from the sharpest end of the crisis. For children in remote villages and tribal settlements, the loss of a neighbourhood school can mean a long and unsafe journey to another village. For students in government and municipal schools, a vacant teacher’s post can mean months or years without instruction in crucial subjects. For children living in government hostels and Ashram schools, inadequate sanitation, food, security and medical facilities can turn access to education into a question of basic safety and dignity. Moreover, for families seeking education in Marathi, the steady weakening of Marathi-medium institutions raises questions about whether the State is preserving meaningful choice or allowing an entire public education network to wither.

The Maharashtra media and even some sections of the “national legacy media” have reported these failures repeatedly, but largely as separate episodes: a school without teachers here, a dangerous building there, a protest over toilets or hostels elsewhere, a proposed school merger or closure, a dispute over Marathi-medium education, or a new policy promising modernisation. The result has been a fragmented public conversation about what is, in reality, a connected and longstanding crisis. These issues crucial to access and participation in a democracy have never been the subject of a sustained media campaign. Successive governments have announced schemes, reviews, reforms and infrastructure programmes, while the underlying questions of staffing, access, funding and accountability have remained.

What is equally striking is how little political space this crisis has occupied as a sustained issue. Despite Maharashtra’s large network of government, Zilla Parishad and municipal schools, and despite repeated concerns raised by teachers, parents, educationists and marginalised communities, the condition of public schooling has rarely been made a central political question. Opposition parties have criticised individual decisions, school closures or government policies, but the broader deterioration of the public education system has not consistently been treated as a major political issue.

It was against this backdrop that the recent School Thik Karo campaign brought the condition of government schools into a more concentrated public spotlight. The campaign led by Cockroach Janta Party convenor Abhijeet Dipke has sought to document basic deficiencies in schools across Maharashtra and place them before the public. Its significance lies in something larger: it has attempted to connect problems that have too often been reported, protested and debated separately. The crisis, however, predates the campaign by years.

The evidence is now difficult to dismiss as a series of isolated incidents. Maharashtra’s own education data records schools without electricity, internet connectivity, functional computers, accessible toilets and adequate teaching staff. Students have protested because teachers are missing. Adivasi students have gone on hunger strike over hostel conditions. Parents and activists have opposed school closures, mergers and relocations. Marathi-medium schools have steadily declined. Teachers are being pulled away from classrooms for non-academic duties, including prolonged election-related work. At the same time, governments have explored cluster schools, school adoption and Public-Private Partnership models even as large parts of the public system continue to struggle with basic infrastructure and vacancies.

This is therefore not simply a story about a few poorly maintained schools, nor is it only about the latest government policy or the latest student protest. It is a story about what happens when the State’s responsibility to provide public education is repeatedly addressed through piecemeal interventions while the structural weaknesses of the system remain.

Maharashtra now speaks the language of a “modern”, digital and future-ready education system. However, before asking whether its schools are ready for artificial intelligence, coding, smart classrooms and digital learning, there is a more basic question to answer: are its schools adequately staffed, safely accessible, properly equipped and capable of providing every child with a meaningful education? The answer emerging from the experiences of students, teachers, parents, marginalised communities and the State’s own data is far more troubling than the language of modernisation suggests.

Justice Varale questions education spending as Marathi-medium schools face closure

Nothing exposes Maharashtra state’s education policy priorities more than what was highlighted by a Supreme Court Judge recently.

Speaking about the condition of Marathi-medium schools weeks ago, Supreme Court Justice P.B. Varale on Saturday, August 22, reportedly questioned the State’s spending priorities, saying that even a fraction of the funds earmarked for the Nashik Kumbh Mela could have helped prevent the closure of hundreds of Marathi-medium schools. The Times of India reported that Justice Varale made the remarks during an event at his former school in Nashik.

Justice Varale reportedly referred to the Maharashtra government’s proposed expenditure on Kumbh infrastructure and a corridor project, while clarifying that he did not oppose such spending. However, he questioned whether a small portion of the allocation could instead have been directed towards education. He said that 0.1% of the Kumbh allocation, amounting to around Rupees 32 Crore, could have helped save more than 100–150 Marathi-medium schools from closure, according to the report.

The Maharashtra government has informed the Union government that a comprehensive development plan of Rupees 22,425.39 Crore has been approved for the 2027 Nashik Simhastha Kumbh Mela. The plan was approved at a meeting of the Apex Committee chaired by the Chief Minister on March 13, 2026, with the Kumbh scheduled to begin in October 2026.

Justice Varale also drew attention to the condition of residential schools, particularly ashramshalas catering to students from marginalised communities. Referring to reports of three girl students at an ashramshala who died after allegedly being bitten by snakes while sleeping on the floor, he reportedly said that the overall condition of several residential schools remained “pathetic”.

His remarks also pointed to a broader concern over the State’s changing budgetary priorities. Justice Varale reportedly observed that the share of the budget allocated to education, which had earlier ranged between 8% and 12%, had declined.

Modern education system cannot be built on disappearing schools

Perhaps the most significant development in Maharashtra’s education story is that students and their families are increasingly refusing to remain passive recipients of policy. Adivasi students have gone on hunger strike, Dharashiv students have sat outside the Zilla Parishad CEO’s office, villagers have locked a school in protest over teacher shortages, parents have challenged school relocations, and activists have documented failures in school infrastructure.

The protests differ in geography and immediate demand, but they share a common message: children and their families are being asked to accept gaps in a system that the State continues to describe as modern, inclusive and future-ready. Educationist Prabhu Mohapatra, commenting on the wider rise in student protests, told PTI that students were increasingly asserting themselves as stakeholders in education policy and that the protests reflected concerns over infrastructure, teacher availability and the quality of learning.

That assertion of agency may be the most important shift in Maharashtra’s education story. Students are not demanding luxury. They are demanding teachers, safe school buildings, functioning toilets, drinking water, adequate classrooms, accessible schools and the ability to continue learning in their own language. They are asking for the basic conditions necessary for education, and for the State to treat those conditions not as discretionary benefits but as public obligations. Maharashtra now has two competing narratives about education.

The first is the official narrative: smart classrooms, artificial intelligence, coding, digital platforms, teacher training, modernisation and a “mission mode” transformation of the education system. The second is emerging from classrooms, villages, hostels and protests: missing teachers, inadequate infrastructure, unsafe or unsuitable accommodation, inaccessible schools, unreliable or disputed data, and institutions facing closure or merger. Both realities have to be confronted.

The government can legitimately point to improvements and new initiatives, and its officials have disputed some of the broader allegations concerning infrastructure. But the State’s own U-DISE data, the Centre’s Project Approval Board review, the Bombay High Court’s intervention and repeated student and parent protests point to structural weaknesses that cannot be resolved through announcements alone.

The decline of Marathi-medium schools makes the problem even more consequential. This is not simply an infrastructure crisis; it is also a question of what kind of public education Maharashtra intends to preserve. If Marathi is to be protected, Marathi-medium schools cannot merely be celebrated symbolically. They must be adequately funded, staffed, upgraded and made capable of providing quality education without forcing parents to abandon the language in which their children have been studying.

If a school has low enrolment, the first question should therefore not automatically be how soon it can be closed. The more fundamental question is why enrolment is falling in the first place.

Is the school inadequately staffed? Are its buildings and facilities deteriorating? Are teachers being diverted to non-teaching duties? Is the school too far from where families now live? Has urban redevelopment displaced the community it once served? Are parents choosing other schools because the Marathi-medium option is perceived to offer poorer infrastructure or fewer opportunities? Has the medium of instruction itself become stigmatised? In addition, crucially, could targeted investment reverse the decline?

These questions become particularly urgent when the children affected are poor, rural, tribal or dependent on Marathi-medium government schools. For such families, the closure of a neighbourhood school is not simply an administrative restructuring. It can mean longer journeys, additional transport costs, greater dependence on private education and, in some cases, the eventual withdrawal of children from school altogether. And where closure is genuinely unavoidable, the State must be able to answer a more basic question: where exactly will every child go?

The Maharashtra government has now promised a time-bound transformation of the education system. The measure of that transformation, however, should not be the number of schemes announced, platforms launched, classrooms labelled “smart” or meetings conducted. It should be visible in the ordinary conditions in which children actually study.

It should mean a functioning fan in a classroom, a usable toilet, clean drinking water, adequate teachers, a safe hostel, a working computer, a laboratory that has actually been built and equipped, and a school that remains within reasonable reach of the children it serves. It should also mean a Marathi-medium school that is not forced to fight simply to survive.

Until these become ordinary features rather than exceptional achievements, the phrase “modern education system” will remain more aspiration than reality. A State cannot credibly claim to be building the schools of the future while allowing existing schools to become inaccessible, under-resourced or disappear altogether.

August 2026: Students on hunger strike for the right to study

The latest and perhaps most revealing episode came from Maharashtra’s Adivasi student community. In August 2026, tribal students in Pune and elsewhere in Maharashtra began protesting against a range of issues concerning government hostels and Ashram schools. Six students continued a hunger strike at the Adivasi Government Boys Hostel near the Hadapsar-Manjari border.

The immediate trigger was a Government Resolution issued on August 14, 2026, imposing a maximum age of 30 years for admission to tribal hostels. But the students’ demands went far beyond the age restriction.

The protest also brought allegations about the treatment of female students into focus. On August 24, Leader of Opposition in the Lok Sabha Rahul Gandhi wrote to Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis raising concerns about the conditions described to him by tribal students. He alleged that hostels were unsafe and lacked adequate food, sanitation and medical care, and referred to claims that female students returning after an extended absence were subjected to pregnancy and other medical tests.

The Hindu also reported on August 24, the protesting students demanded the withdrawal of the August 14 Government Resolution and a revised order based on the earlier November 11, 2011 framework, with allowances linked to inflation. They sought greater protection for students living in tribal hostels and Ashram schools, ₹1 crore insurance cover for tribal students, ₹1 crore compensation for the families of three tribal girls who died following a snake-bite incident in Gadchiroli, a safe and properly equipped hostel for female students in Pune, and immediate filling of vacant posts including peons, security guards and sanitation workers.

The scale of dependence on these hostels is itself significant. As The Indian Express reported on August 26, the Tribal Development Department runs 490 government hostels across Maharashtra, accommodating between 58,000 and 60,000 students every year. The government ultimately backed down on the immediate issue. On August 25, following discussions with tribal legislators and MPs, Tribal Development Minister Ashok Uike announced that the 30-year age limit had been scrapped and that there would be no age restriction for admission to Adivasi hostels. The Indian Express reported that the decision came a day after Rahul Gandhi had raised the matter with Fadnavis. The government therefore acted. However, it acted after 13 days of hunger strike.

That sequence matters. It raises the question of how many of the other problems raised by the students — safety, sanitation, staffing, food, medical care and financial support — will require another protest before they receive sustained attention.

July 2026: “We need teachers, not promises”

The same pattern was visible in Dharashiv. On July 31, India Today reported that Class 10 students of a Zilla Parishad secondary school in Sonari village had begun an indefinite sit-in outside the Zilla Parishad Chief Executive Officer’s office demanding regular secondary-school teachers. Their complaint was not new. According to the protesting students, several teaching and staff posts had remained vacant for nearly four years. Repeated representations had allegedly failed to produce concrete action. A day before the sit-in, villagers had locked the school to draw attention to the shortage.

Students particularly objected to primary-school teachers being used to teach secondary classes, arguing that students preparing for the SSC examination required qualified subject teachers. The protest carried an especially pointed message. Students invoked the government’s “Beti Bachao, Beti Padhao” campaign and asked, in effect: what does saving the girl child mean if she is then denied the teachers required to complete her education? They also invoked Dr B.R. Ambedkar’s call to “Educate, Organise and Agitate”.

They said they had already approached the Zilla Parishad CEO, Education Officer, District Collector and Superintendent of Police on July 28, but claimed that no effective action followed.

This is not merely a question of staffing. For a Class 10 student, a missing teacher is not an abstract administrative vacancy. It can mean an incomplete syllabus, inadequate preparation for a board examination and, for poorer families, pressure to pay for private tuition that they may not be able to afford. Moreover, the state already knows that teacher shortages are a wider problem.

The Government’s own data exposes the gap

On July 17, the findings emerging from the Ministry of Education’s U-DISE 2025-26 data provided that Maharashtra had 108,139 schools, 21.6 million students and 750,272 teachers. But 3,201 schools had no electricity connection at all. Another 10,938 had electricity connections that were not functional. A further 23,855 schools had no internet connectivity. Of the 90,419 schools that had computer facilities, computers were functional in only 84,530. That left 23,609 schools without operational computer systems.

The contradiction is hard to miss. The state is speaking increasingly about artificial intelligence, coding, smart classrooms and digital learning. Yet thousands of its schools are still struggling with the infrastructure required to switch on a computer, let alone build a digital classroom. The problem goes beyond technology. U-DISE data showed that 9,269 schools were single-teacher schools, catering to 179,104 students. More than 32,000 schools lacked separate toilets for children with disabilities, while 16,341 did not have ramps with railings.

There were 2,019 unusable girls’ toilets and 3,280 unusable boys’ toilets, with the data attributing the problem to issues including water, maintenance and pending repairs. Another 3,932 schools lacked playgrounds and 1,099 lacked a library or book bank. Only 13,550 schools had digital libraries, leaving 94,589 without one. These figures matter because they are not merely the claims of opposition parties or activists; they come from the government’s own education database.

Teachers are being asked to do more with less

Teachers have also described the consequences of this system. Vijay Kombe, president of the Maharashtra State Primary Teachers’ Committee, told ETV Bharat that schools continued to face shortages of basic items such as mats, desks and benches. He said local-government schools lacked dedicated cleaning staff and that teachers in some places were consequently forced to clean classrooms and toilets, sometimes with students’ help.

Kombe also claimed that more than 75 per cent of primary schools run by local self-government bodies lacked headmasters, leaving teachers to combine administrative duties with classroom teaching. He criticised the staffing arrangement in low-enrolment schools, under which one primary teacher may have to manage multiple classes, while one teacher may be required to teach all subjects for Classes 6 to 8.

There is, however, an important official counterpoint. Divisional Deputy Director of Education Rajesh Kankal said drinking-water facilities were available in more than 100,000 schools, while more than 107,000 had hand-washing facilities and more than 102,000 conducted annual health check-ups. He said the administration was working to rectify the remaining shortcomings. The issue, therefore, is not that Maharashtra has no facilities.

It is that the existence of facilities in the majority of schools does not erase the thousands of schools where they are absent, dysfunctional or inaccessible. For a child attending one of those schools, the state-wide average offers little comfort.

SIR extension keeps teachers away from classrooms

The extension of the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls in Maharashtra has prolonged the deployment of teachers as Booth Level Officers (BLOs) and support staff, affecting regular classroom teaching, unit tests and other academic activities. Teachers who were expected to return to schools by August 8 had been assigned election-related duties until August 17, with house visits, voter verification and form-related work continuing even as schools prepare for examinations and work to complete the syllabus.

The timing has added to existing pressures on schools. Unit tests scheduled for August and periodic assessments meant to track students’ learning are being affected, while teachers are also required to cover new textbooks introduced for Standards III, IV and VI under the National Education Policy. In some government and civic schools, more than 70% of teaching staff has reportedly been deployed for SIR-related work, leaving schools with reduced staff and, in some cases, forcing them to operate for only half the day. Teachers and school heads have said the prolonged absence is making it difficult to complete teaching and conduct examinations as scheduled.

The impact extends beyond teachers formally appointed as BLOs, with other teaching and non-teaching employees being assigned to assist with the exercise. In one school, Headmaster Tanaji Mane said three teachers initially appointed as BLOs were later joined by teaching and non-teaching staff who were relieved of their regular duties. Data cited by Progressive Teachers Association president Tanaji Kamble from Mumbai’s Ghatkopar East constituency reportedly showed that 184 of 283 BLOs were from the Education Department, including 157 teachers. Teachers have also faced pressure to report for election duties, with police notices reportedly issued to some who failed to do so. Educationists and teacher representatives have consequently questioned whether such prolonged deployment is compatible with the State’s responsibility to ensure uninterrupted schooling.

The issue ultimately raises a larger question about how election-related administrative work is being balanced against children’s right to regular education. Teachers have described the SIR process as continuous and demanding, while educationists have warned that prolonged absence from classrooms can disrupt learning, assessments and syllabus completion. With the electoral exercise continuing even as the academic year progresses, teacher organisations have suggested using trained personnel from other departments or other mechanisms for election work instead of repeatedly drawing teachers away from schools. The concern is not simply about teachers’ workload, but about what happens to students when the people responsible for teaching them are routinely pulled away from the classroom.

Detailed report may be read here.

The Centre’s review makes the picture worse

The Ministry of Education’s Project Approval Board raised similar concerns while examining Maharashtra’s Samagra Shiksha plan for 2026-27. Of 22,416 eligible upper-primary, secondary and higher-secondary schools, 21,009 did not have ICT laboratories. Another 4,286 lacked smart classrooms. Nearly 60 per cent of primary and upper-primary schools had fewer than 30 students each, while 7,186 schools had only one teacher.

The Union also noted that more than 4,300 villages did not have a secondary school within the prescribed distance and more than 6,500 villages lacked access to a higher-secondary school. More than 80 per cent of approved science laboratories had not been completed, while toilets sanctioned for children with special needs remained pending. The teacher vacancy figures were equally concerning; around 17% of secondary teaching posts and 25% of higher-secondary posts were vacant.

The Centre approved ₹2,494.17 crore under Samagra Shiksha for Maharashtra for 2026-27 and directed the state to complete pending infrastructure and digital projects in “mission mode”. The Maharashtra government, for its part, said most sanctioned ICT laboratories were under installation and would be completed by the end of the year.

But this creates an uncomfortable policy contradiction. The government is being asked to modernise schools while it has not yet completed the basics.

Then there is the question of closing schools

Perhaps the most consequential issue is not what is missing from schools, but what happens when the state decides a school is no longer viable. In April 2026, the Maharashtra government issued two Government Resolutions declaring 433 primary schools and 324 secondary schools ineligible for grant-in-aid. The schools were directed to apply under the Maharashtra Self-Financed Schools Act, 2012. If they failed to do so, their recognition could be cancelled, effectively leading to closure. The Bombay High Court intervened.

On April 29, 2026, the Kolhapur Bench held that the government’s action could not proceed against the petitioner schools without giving them an opportunity to be heard. As The Hindu reported on May 19, the court found that the resolutions violated principles of natural justice and directed that the petitioner institutions be removed from the list. Nevertheless, the court’s observations went beyond procedure.

The bench noted that the affected schools were predominantly Marathi-medium institutions, particularly in villages. It pointed out the contradiction in the state’s position: on the one hand, Maharashtra was insisting that Marathi be given greater importance; on the other, the government’s action could result in the closure of Marathi-medium schools.

The judges also asked questions that should have been at the centre of the government’s decision before the resolutions were issued: Could the students actually be accommodated in nearby schools? Would the medium of instruction continue? What would happen in villages where alternative schools were not available? What would happen to teaching and non-teaching staff? Could teachers be absorbed elsewhere? And could poor families be expected to bear the consequences of the shift to self-financed education?

The court concluded that these considerations had not been adequately addressed and directed the state to conduct hearings before taking action. That intervention is crucial because it exposes the danger of treating school closure as a mere question of numbers. A school with fewer students is not automatically a redundant school as it may be the only school within walking distance, or the only affordable school, or the only school teaching in the child’s language. And if it disappears, the state’s responsibility does not disappear with it.

2023: From school closures to “adoption”: A changing model of public education

The debate over low-enrolment schools cannot be separated from another policy shift: the growing role being given to private entities in the management and development of government schools. Maharashtra has increasingly presented private participation as a means of improving infrastructure and educational quality, even as questions remain about why the State is unable to adequately fund and maintain its own public-school system.

In September 2023, the Maharashtra government introduced an “Adopt a School” scheme under the National Education Policy’s Vidyanjali initiative. As reported by the Times of India on September 19, 2023, the scheme allowed private and public sector entities to adopt government schools for five or 10 years. The State proposed making more than 62,000 government schools available for adoption. Corporate entities could use Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) funds for activities ranging from repairs, maintenance and painting to improving sanitation, health, enrolment and the use of technology.

Dalit groups strongly protested this move towards privatisation that would deny access to Dalit, Adivasi and OBC students especially in rural areas.

The financial commitments were substantial yet no audit of the scheme or the implementation have ever been held, nor demanded. According to the government resolution reported by The Times of India, entities adopting schools in “A” and “B” category municipal corporations, including Mumbai and Pune, were required to commit ₹2 crore for five years or ₹3 crore for 10 years. For “C” category municipal corporations, the amounts were ₹1 crore and ₹2 crore respectively, while other schools could be adopted for ₹50 lakh for five years or ₹1 crore for 10 years. The Business Standard, reporting on September 18, 2023, said the funds could be used for school-building repairs, painting, and toilets, infrastructure and sports equipment.

The government insisted that the scheme was not privatisation. In December 2023, then School Education Minister Deepak Kesarkar told the Hindustan Times that a major corporate house had expressed interest in adopting around 5,000 schools and stressed that the objective was to improve infrastructure and amenities, not to privatise schools. The government resolution also permitted an adopting entity to add its name to the existing school name for the duration of the agreement, although the original name was to be retained.

The distinction between “adoption” and privatisation, however, becomes more complicated when viewed alongside the State’s broader education policy. In July 2026, Frontline reported that Maharashtra was expanding public-private partnership models in school education, including the operation of five English-medium schools of the Pune Municipal Corporation through a PPP arrangement. The report said the same organisation that had previously operated the schools using CSR funds was subsequently awarded a contract worth ₹12 crore annually by the Pune civic administration. Frontline also reported concerns over proposals to hand over land reserved for Mumbai municipal schools to private entities under PPP arrangements.

This raises a fundamental question about the direction of public education. If private organisations are initially invited to improve government schools through CSR and are later given contracts to operate schools using public funds, the State’s role can gradually shift from being the primary provider of education to financing or facilitating private participation in its delivery. The issue is therefore not simply whether private money can improve a school building. It is who ultimately controls public educational assets, who determines priorities and whether access to education remains governed primarily by public obligations rather than the interests or capacities of private partners.

The question becomes particularly important in the context of Maharashtra’s low-enrolment and cluster-school policies. In September 2023, Mid-Day reported that the State had identified 14,783 schools with 20 or fewer students for consolidation into cluster schools. The proposed restructuring was expected to affect 1,85,467 students and 29,707 teachers. The government argued that very small schools could not provide adequate infrastructure, qualified teachers or opportunities for social interaction, and pointed to successful cluster models in Panshet and Toranmal.

Teachers and education activists, however, warned that consolidation could push students to travel longer distances and increase the risk of dropouts, particularly in rural and remote areas. Their concern was especially significant for young children, girls and students from economically weaker families for whom daily travel to a distant school may itself become a barrier to attendance.

The State subsequently sought to reassure critics. In July 2025, Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde told the Maharashtra legislature, as reported by ET Education, that schools would not be closed merely because of low enrolment. He said the government would make adjustments to ensure that such schools continued functioning and that teachers would be redeployed only after appropriate adjustments were made. Yet the same report noted that around 18,000 schools had fewer than 20 students.

The policy trajectory therefore remains difficult to reconcile. On one side, the government says low-enrolment schools will not be shut and that every child must continue to have access to education. On the other, cluster models, school consolidation and private participation are being promoted as solutions to the perceived financial and infrastructural limitations of the existing public-school network.

The issue is not that private participation is inherently harmful, nor that every small school must necessarily remain open regardless of circumstances. The concern is whether the State is addressing the reasons behind low enrolment and poor infrastructure before declaring a school inefficient, relocating its students or inviting private entities to take over functions that should ordinarily be part of public educational provision.

A government school is not merely a building that can be repaired through CSR funding or managed through a contractual arrangement. It is part of the public infrastructure through which the State fulfils its constitutional obligation to provide education. When schools are under-resourced, the answer cannot automatically be to reduce the State’s responsibility by transferring greater functions to private actors. The more important question is whether Maharashtra is investing sufficiently in making its public schools viable before concluding that they need to be consolidated, adopted or operated through PPP models.

Marathi schools: Declining enrolment or a policy-created cycle?

The decline of Marathi-medium education in Maharashtra is particularly troubling because it cannot simply be reduced to a story of parents “choosing English”. The numbers in Mumbai are stark. According to BMC data cited by ThePrint on July 24, 2025, the number of Marathi-medium schools in Mumbai fell from 460 in 2019-20 to 421 in 2025-26 — a loss of 39 schools. Around 50,000 students had moved elsewhere from the 2019-20 academic session onwards.

The longer-term numbers are even more striking. Mid-Day, reporting on May 4, 2025, said Mumbai had 413 Marathi-medium schools in 2010-11, 368 in 2014-15 and only 262 by 2023-24. That is not a temporary fluctuation, but rather a sustained decline.

The government has attributed the decline largely to parental preference for English-medium education. Parents do indeed have reasons to make that choice. English is widely perceived as providing better access to higher education, employment and social mobility. But educators and activists argue that parents are also responding to the relative quality and visibility of the schools being offered to them. As ThePrint reported in July 2025, educators pointed to inadequate infrastructure in Marathi-medium schools and alleged that English-medium institutions received greater preference when it came to development.

Deepak Pawar of the School Education Action Coordination Committee argued that Marathi-medium schools should be upgraded without changing their medium to English. Teachers cited in the report similarly described a communication gap with middle-class families and said some Marathi-medium schools had modern facilities such as Atal Tinkering Labs and robotics labs, but that efforts to publicise and develop these came only after enrolment had already begun to collapse. The important point here is thus, if the state allows a school to deteriorate, then points to falling enrolment as evidence that the school is no longer viable, it risks creating a self-fulfilling cycle. One cannot ignore the vicious cycle of how poor infrastructure erodes parental confidence, leading to declining enrolment, reduced allocation of teachers and resources, and a further deterioration of schools, creating a cycle that ultimately pushes schools towards closure. The final closure can then be presented as the inevitable consequence of “parental preference”. But inevitability is not the same as neutrality.

The fate of one of Mumbai’s oldest Marathi schools

The uncertainty surrounding Dadar’s Nabar Guruji Vidyalaya brought this crisis into sharp relief. In May 2025, Mid-Day reported that the Marathi-medium school, which dates back to the 1940s, was facing an uncertain future amid falling admissions. Thirty-five students had appeared for its SSC examination that year, but only 17 students remained in Classes 9 and 10 for the new academic year. The management clarified that it had not decided to close the school.

Trustee Satish Rama Nayak said the institution remained financially capable of functioning because it offered free education and teachers’ salaries were supported through government grants. The difficulty was the collapse in enrolment and its impact on the teacher-student ratio. Nayak also described a social transformation.

Parents who had themselves studied in Marathi-medium schools were increasingly choosing English-medium or CBSE schools for their children, sometimes even taking loans to pay for them. That is the other side of the story. It would be too simplistic to blame the government for every parent who chooses English. But it is equally simplistic to blame parents for the disappearance of Marathi-medium schools without asking why government and aided Marathi schools have not been made equally attractive, well-equipped and aspirational.

As Sushil Shejule of the Marathi Abhyas Kendra told ThePrint, the decline had been visible for years and, despite the availability of data, neither governments nor political parties had taken meaningful action.

The irony of Marathi’s “classical language” status

In October 2024, Marathi received classical-language status from the Union government. Maharashtra has also repeatedly asserted the importance of Marathi in public life and education. The Maharashtra Compulsory Teaching and Learning of Marathi Language in Schools Act, 2020 made Marathi compulsory in schools across the state, including CBSE and ICSE schools. Yet the institutions that actually provide education through Marathi continue to shrink.

The Mid-Day report of May 2025 placed the decline against precisely this backdrop: Marathi had acquired classical-language status, but one of Mumbai’s oldest Marathi-medium schools was struggling with falling admissions. The contradiction was also noticed by the Bombay High Court in its April 2026 intervention.

The state cannot convincingly claim to protect Marathi while allowing the network of Marathi-medium schools, particularly those serving poorer and rural families, to become increasingly fragile. Protecting a language is not merely about official resolutions, signboards or declarations. It also means ensuring that a child who wants, or needs, to study in that language has a functioning school in which to do so.

Mumbai’s municipal schools: when “repair” means displacement

The infrastructure problem becomes even more complicated when schools are declared unsafe and children are moved elsewhere. In December 2025, Outlook reported on the closure and relocation of Mumbai municipal schools, including New Mahim Municipal School. Students were shifted from August 2025 to another municipal school operating from a few rooms on the first floor of a residential building.

According to the report, the replacement premises lacked a playground, proper drinking-water facilities and adequately supplied toilets. The concern raised by parents and activists was not that unsafe buildings should continue to operate. A genuinely dangerous school building cannot be defended in the name of access to education. The concern was about what children were being offered after their school was shut.

When a school has to close because its building is unsafe, the replacement should provide an equivalent educational environment. It should be sufficiently close to the children’s homes, have adequate classrooms, functional toilets and drinking-water facilities, and provide children with access to a playground. Parents and children should also have a say in decisions that directly affect their education. For Marathi-medium schools, relocation should not result in the loss of the medium of instruction. These are not peripheral concerns. They determine whether a “relocation” actually amounts to continued and meaningful access to education.

When official records themselves threaten to erase students

Another warning emerged in January 2026. On January 10, ETV Bharat reported discrepancies between Aadhaar-linked records and UDISE Plus data that had left thousands of students classified as “invalid”, “not provided”, “under verification” or “out of school”. The report said that of 2,14,68,288 students registered in the relevant Maharashtra UDISE Plus data, 5,78,433 were listed with invalid Aadhaar details and 4,98,759 had not provided Aadhaar details. Another 69,688 were shown as out of school. Educationists warned that such discrepancies could have consequences for school enrolment figures and, consequently, teacher deployment and funding. The concern was particularly acute for Marathi-medium schools.

Rajan Mahadeshwar, principal of Govandi’s Jagruti Vidyamandir, told ETV Bharat that his school had 430 students actually registered, while the UDISE system showed only 380 because 50 were marked invalid or pending verification. He feared that an artificially reduced enrolment could eventually affect the school’s viability. Officials disputed the extent of the danger.

Divisional Deputy Director Rajesh Kankal said only around five per cent of students in numerous schools did not have Aadhaar updated and said he did not expect grant-in-aid schools to face major problems. Yet the larger policy concern remains valid: when funding, staffing and school viability are increasingly linked to enrolment data, the accuracy of that data becomes an educational rights issue. A child should not become statistically invisible because a database has failed to correctly reflect their presence in a classroom.

The state is promising a transformation

The government has not remained silent. On August 22, 2026, Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde held a detailed review meeting with School Education Minister Dada Bhuse and senior officials. As Deccan Herald reported on August 23, Shinde directed the Education Department to prepare a clear, comprehensive and time-bound action plan to modernise schools and bring about “real, visible and qualitative improvements”.

The proposed plan includes teacher training, capacity building, greater involvement of education experts and experienced teachers, health check-ups, nutrition, a review of the Mid-Day Meal Scheme and attention to students’ mental and emotional well-being. The state has also expanded digital education initiatives. Digital Learning reported on August 4 that the Vinoba Digital Education platform had been expanded to 45,000 government schools across 25 districts, reaching more than 31 lakh students and nearly 1.3 lakh teachers.

These initiatives may be useful. However, the timing of the government’s August review is telling. It came after weeks in which government-school conditions had repeatedly been placed in the public eye — including through the “School Thik Karo” campaign launched in Maharashtra by Cockroach Janta Party convenor Abhijeet Dipke.

On August 15, Telangana Today reported that Dipke had launched the campaign in Hingoli after inspecting a Zilla Parishad school where he alleged that toilets lacked water, windows were broken and students lacked adequate benches. He said the campaign would document basic facilities in government schools across Maharashtra. The campaign itself is not a substitute for institutional inspection or government monitoring. Its allegations must therefore be independently verified before being treated as established facts.

But its very existence points to a troubling question: Why are political and citizen campaigns increasingly having to inspect schools to make basic educational infrastructure visible?

When will policy on public education, access and representation actually be formulated with the stakeholders? Who are the stakeholders? They are communities that demand education for the young, the most marginalised and teachers who form the other crucial arc. All the policies hurriedly formulated are however top heavy and solely the creation of bureaucrats and politicians, often concealing blatant private interests.

This is not democracy but public policy turned on its head.

Related:

Six-year-old detained during Patna teacher aspirants’ protest, parents allege police assault

Water Cannons Instead of Answers: Bihar’s recruitment crisis and the state’s crackdown on protest

Amnesty Investigation finds unlawful and deadly force against CJP-led protesters in Delhi and Siwan

August 11, 2026: A decade plus of students challenging a regime that seeks to control thought & ideas

Maharashtra SIR extension keeps teachers away from classrooms as unit tests face delays

After NEET protests ended, the battle moved online: Women protesters face threats, doxing and criminalisation

The post Maharashtra’s schools are struggling to survive as students protest, infrastructure crumbles and Marathi-medium institutions disappear appeared first on SabrangIndia.