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By:

Sunjay Awate and Dr. Kishore Paknikar

23 October 2025 at 5:20:01 pm

Education for Sale, Conscience on Hold

Globalisation taught the world to look at India as a market first and a culture second. Beauty pageant crowns once signalled the discovery of a lucrative consumer base. A similar shift is unfolding in education, where India’s enormous learner population has turned schooling itself into an export opportunity for others and a purchasing decision for us. India is now the world’s most populous country and has the largest cohort of young people, a demographic fact that powerfully shapes how...

Education for Sale, Conscience on Hold

Globalisation taught the world to look at India as a market first and a culture second. Beauty pageant crowns once signalled the discovery of a lucrative consumer base. A similar shift is unfolding in education, where India’s enormous learner population has turned schooling itself into an export opportunity for others and a purchasing decision for us. India is now the world’s most populous country and has the largest cohort of young people, a demographic fact that powerfully shapes how governments and corporations view the education sector. With India projected by the UN to become the world’s most populous country by 2023, our classrooms represent the largest learner base on the planet. This is why headlines now highlight foreign campuses and cross-border degree pipelines. During the UK Prime Minister’s October 2025 visit, Britain confirmed that its universities will establish new campuses in India, calling this a growth opportunity for its economy—presenting higher education as a tradable service. At least two UK universities, Lancaster and Surrey, have received approval, with several more in discussions. The framework comes from the 2022–23 regulations that allowed select foreign universities to establish independent campuses, following early examples like Deakin University at GIFT City. The term “education export” reveals that degrees, brands, and syllabi now move across borders much like any other commodity. Coaching economy Yet, an abundance of providers does not equate to an abundance of education. Over the past few decades, coaching, once a modest aid for board exams, has grown into a parallel system that shapes academic futures and often impacts family finances. Kota’s expansion into a coaching hub exemplifies this shift, with a student population exceeding 150,000 before the pandemic and approximately 30 student suicides recorded in 2023. The market now starts before school and continues after graduation. ‘Garbha sanskar’ packages complement ‘nursery admissions consulting,’ followed by bundled test prep for IIT-JEE, NEET, UPSC, and state civil services. Each stage leads to hostels, study rooms, subscription platforms, and financing options. Meanwhile, public recruitment declines, and many graduates, including engineers, turn toward government exams, increasing demand for more coaching. The private cost of schooling rises, but the public benefits in scientific ability, civic skills, and social empathy are less certain. ASER 2023 found that over half of rural youth aged 14–18 cannot solve a basic three-digit division, and about a quarter struggle to read a Grade-II text fluently. Even as access expands, real learning often stalls. Moral compass This moral tension has long been identified by thinkers who saw education as more than just job training. Rabindranath Tagore insisted that learning must connect children with nature and community, allowing minds “to stumble upon and be surprised.” Jiddu Krishnamurti warned that conformity stifles intelligence; he believed the purpose of education is to help learners see through thought patterns that trap them. Both advocates emphasized curiosity and inner freedom over compliance. Sir Ken Robinson, in his famous 2006 TED Talk, echoed this concern: “Creativity is as important as literacy.” He noted that when schools suppress imagination, they produce generations of risk-averse adults. A. P. J. Abdul Kalam added an ethical perspective: “The purpose of education is to make good human beings with skill and expertise,” intentionally placing goodness before skill. Later, economist Amartya Sen offered a structured framework - the capability approach - which defines development as the expansion of people’s real freedoms. An education that limits options through fear or strict sorting, by this standard, is a failure. Measured against these standards, much of modern practice seems misaligned. Middle school students prepare for professional entrance exams before discovering their own interests. Parents choose brands instead of educational methods. Universities promote placements more than research labs. Employers complain that graduates lack problem-solving and writing skills. The highly educated often seem least connected to the community. We are marketing children for a market rather than preparing citizens for society. India’s path forward need not be nostalgic. It can rebuild purpose through evidence-based reform, by prioritizing educational intent over mere access. Foreign campuses permitted in India should invest part of their effort in strengthening domestic research, especially in basic sciences that fuel innovation. With its vast youth base, India can revive physics and mathematics alongside software studies, nurturing inquiry-driven rather than placement-driven learning. The tyranny of single-shot, high-stakes exams must give way to modular assessments that allow multiple attempts and feedback loops. International evidence shows that spreading evaluation over time improves both learning and mental health. Curiosity must be reintroduced into early education. Tagore’s nature-rich classrooms and Krishnamurti’s emphasis on self-awareness are now reflected in outdoor science lessons, local history walks, civic projects, school gardens, maker spaces and revival of art and music. Governments must invest profoundly in teachers. A teacher’s development, research time, and well-being must be regarded as national assets. Finally, recognize student mental health as essential infrastructure. Every district should have trained counsellors, confidential helplines, and parent education programs. The civic purpose of education also needs to be restored. An educated person should be able to identify species in a neighbourhood park, write a letter to a local government office, explain why local elections matter, and volunteer without expecting recognition. A system that prepares children solely for markets may produce efficient workers and anxious adults. A system that educates for freedom fosters confident innovators and compassionate citizens. Tagore wanted minds that could be surprised; Krishnamurti wanted minds that could be free; Robinson wanted schools that honour creativity; Kalam wanted education to make good human beings; Sen wanted development to be freedom. Learning, at its best, expands life itself. Unless we accept this truth, our children will grow up beautifully wrapped yet empty inside. (Sunjay Awate is an Editor with Lokmat, Pune; Dr Kishore Paknikar is the former Director, Agharkar Research Institute, Pune and Visiting Professor, Indian Institute of Technology Bombay. Views personal.)

More Than a Streak of Red

The detractors quibbling over the semantics of Operation Sindoor ought to realize that in the streak of sindoor, the Armed Forces find the heartbeat of a nation worth protecting.

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These past days, we have all asked quietly, sometimes aloud: are the terrorists truly gone? Has the operation ended? Or is the story still unfolding under the hush of a ceasefire? As a Defense Analyst who speaks actively on many news channels, I know television may run out of airtime, but the questions that linger in the minds of people rarely do. Among the many images that have emerged from this mission, the one that stays with me is not of rifles or ranks, but of sindoor. That thin, red streak was a symbol, a thread back to hope, and a path home.


This symbol carries a meaning deeper than what meets the eye. As an Indian Muslim, I may come from a tradition where our wives do not wear sindoor. But that does not mean I am unfamiliar with its quiet power. We grow up in India immersed in one another’s customs, shaped by an invisible but deeply emotional understanding of symbols that may not be ours by practice, but are certainly ours by heart. That red streak tucked into the parting of a woman’s hair is more than ornament. It is memory. It is identity. It is a sacred bond, a silent contract that says someone is waiting, someone is hoping, someone is loved. And in times like these, that small sign speaks louder than any words.


I wasn’t there in Pahalgam on April 22 when the dastardly, cowardly terrorist attack took place, or in uniform when Operation Sindoor unfolded. But I have worn the olive green with great pride. I’ve stood in places where silence is thick with meaning, and the smallest symbols speak volumes. In such moments, that streak of sindoor tells us all we need to know—who we are fighting for, and who must be brought home. These are the moments that reveal the heart behind the mission.


India has always placed faith in its women, not just in name, but in action. From Colonel Sofiya Qureshi of the Indian Army to Wing Commander Vyomika Singh of the Indian Air Force, Lt Cdr Dilna K, Lt Cdr Roopa A who of the Indian Navy who crossed Point Nemo, the remotest location on earth. Women have been the face of competence and resilience. They lead with capability and command with strength, and not for show or symbolism. Some wear sindoor too, proving that leadership and love, duty and devotion, can go hand in hand.


Operation Sindoor was not just a name. It was a coded but profound promise. A silent assurance that when India reaches out to protect her people, she does so with both courage and compassion.


Almost two decades ago, I was chosen to come to Delhi from Nagaland to lead the Assam Rifles marching contingent for the prestigious Republic Day Parade in 2008. I had strongly advocated for a full women’s contingent to be featured, voicing this vision from the Army Chief’s residence, speaking from a stage literally built on a treetop, where the top brass of the country sat, from the President to the Prime Minister. At that time, it felt like a distant dream. But when it finally happened—and it was the Assam Rifles that led the way—I watched them march down Rajpath (as it was then called) with precision and pride, and it felt a promise fulfilled. That moment wasn’t about ceremony but about legacy. And legacy is not built overnight, but quietly, echoing across generations.


That same legacy lives in the sindoor that many may dismiss as mere tradition. When a woman applies that red streak, she is not submitting; she is committing. It is not about ritual but about responsibility. And when that mark became part of a mission’s name, it reminded us that symbols matter. Emotions matter. These are the unseen threads that tie us to each other, and to our shared purpose.


In uncertain times, headlines may confuse, ceasefires may raise questions and silence may feel hollow. But the sindoor remains. It remains as a sign of love, of hope, of enduring faith. And as long as it does, so does our duty to protect that faith, to honour that love, and to remember who we serve. Mission Sindoor is not over. It lives on in every act of courage, every quiet prayer, every heartbeat that dares to hope. Because sometimes, the red on a soldier’s chest is called courage. And sometimes, the red on a woman’s forehead is called faith. And in both, our nation finds its reflection.


Nation first. Always, and every time. The emotions of a nation must be carried together. Jai Hind.


(The writer is an Army veteran. Views personal.)

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