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Correspondent

21 August 2024 at 10:20:16 am

Fee Signal

The government’s decision to create a legal framework for levying charges on UPI transactions has understandably triggered concern, even though it insists that ordinary users and small merchants will continue to enjoy free payments. The proposed amendment does not impose a fee on UPI today. But it removes the statutory barrier to one being imposed in the future, making the government’s reassurance less than the final word. The government argues that this is a measure for UPI’s long-term...

Fee Signal

The government’s decision to create a legal framework for levying charges on UPI transactions has understandably triggered concern, even though it insists that ordinary users and small merchants will continue to enjoy free payments. The proposed amendment does not impose a fee on UPI today. But it removes the statutory barrier to one being imposed in the future, making the government’s reassurance less than the final word. The government argues that this is a measure for UPI’s long-term sustainability. The world’s largest real-time payments system, which processed 2,366 crore transactions worth Rs. 29.9 lakh crore in July alone, cannot indefinitely depend on subsidies as transaction volumes, cybersecurity requirements and infrastructure costs rise. A nominal Merchant Discount Rate on larger merchant transactions, it says, would help create a more sustainable ecosystem without burdening ordinary users. That argument has merit. But so does the concern that a payment system which became a national habit precisely because it was cheap and frictionless should not slowly acquire a price tag. Once the legal machinery for charging exists, there is no guarantee that the boundary between large merchants and small ones, or between merchants and consumers, will remain permanently fixed. The Finance Minister has clarified that any Merchant Discount Rate will apply only to a limited set of merchant transactions above a threshold and will be nominal, well below card-payment rates. The details will eventually be decided by the UPI and Services Steering Committee headed by the National Payments Corporation of India. In other words, there is no charge on the table for the ordinary UPI user today. But there is now a legal mechanism for charges to be introduced tomorrow. That is precisely why any alarm, though exaggerated, cannot simply be dismissed. The government, through its clarification, has reassured that UPI’s free-to-consumer model remains intact. The important issue is whether its financing model can evolve without undermining the habits that made it revolutionary. UPI succeeded partly because it made digital payments cheaper and simpler than alternatives. There is also a larger principle at stake. UPI is not merely another commercial payments platform. It is the product of public investment, regulatory architecture and private innovation. The state should therefore be wary of treating its sustainability as an ordinary market problem. The sensible answer lies between free-for-all subsidies and indiscriminate fees: transparent thresholds, genuinely low MDRs, strong protection for small merchants and an absolute firewall around ordinary consumers. The government should publish the economic case for any future charge, including its effect on merchants and consumers. UPI was built on trust as much as technology. The government is right to protect its remarkable achievement. It should remember that keeping UPI free is not merely a political promise. It is part of the product.

When Exams Lose Credibility

Far more than opportunity or access, Indian students are increasingly asking whether the examination system itself deserves their trust.

My name is Meera, and my story could belong to millions of students across India. I stand with the students protesting today because their anger is not only about an examination but about a breach of trust.


My grandmother left school because the nearest secondary school was too far away. My mother went to college, earned a degree and found work. I have grown up with coaching classes, online lectures, competitive examinations and the assurance that merit will determine how far I go.


Three generations of my family tell the story of India’s social contract in education. My grandmother asked the question of Opportunity: if I am willing to learn, will you allow me to enter? My mother asked the question of Capability: if I give the system my time and effort, will it prepare me for work, citizenship and life? I ask the question of Credibility: when you teach, assess and certify me, can I trust the process?


Inclusive Education

For much of independent India, opportunity was the priority. The country needed schools, universities, teachers and institutions. It had to bring girls, rural children and excluded communities into the education system. Governments widened access through institution-building, reservation, Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan and, eventually, the constitutional right to education.


Then came my mother’s question. Enrolment was not enough. Students needed to learn, acquire skills, and be prepared for a changing economy. Policies emphasised teacher development, vocational education, foundational literacy, and employability. Education must do more than accommodate a student; it must develop one.


I am the product of both advances. I have a seat and the ability to compete for what comes next. That is precisely why I will no longer accept that the institution judging me need not meet the standards it imposes on me.


This is not the first time educational reform has met resistance. Two consequential education ministers, Saiyid Nurul Hasan and Murli Manohar Joshi, came from academic backgrounds. Both sought structural change and advanced ideas about curriculum and knowledge.


Hasan strengthened historical and social-science research institutions, but his tenure became associated with the growing authority of Marxist and left-secular historians within state-supported academia. Joshi advanced Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan and the constitutional entitlement to education while seeking to replace the inherited intellectual establishment with a Hindu-civilisational interpretation.


Each said he was correcting an existing distortion. Opponents saw ideological capture. Structural reform became entangled with the question of who controls knowledge, and resistance came largely from academics, institutions, political parties and courts.


My generation’s protest is different. We are separating structure, knowledge and process for ourselves. I may argue with the syllabus, the government’s conception of history, centralisation, reservation or pedagogy. But I should not have to debate whether the paper was secure, whether candidates faced equal conditions, whether marks were correct, or whether anyone will accept responsibility when the system fails.


A curriculum can be contested. But an examination process must be credible. The government has constituted a task force on examination reform under Nandan Nilekani. I agree that his experience in digital public infrastructure is considerable, and that technology must be integral to an examination system. But the choice also suggests a familiar diagnosis: that an examination becomes credible when it is digital.


Need for Accountability

Technology can help. However, it cannot, by itself, make them trustworthy. A digital system can be poorly designed, compromised by insiders, or manipulated by vendors. Centralisation may improve standardisation, but it also concentrates risk. One breach or software failure can harm millions at once. Trust is not a feature that can be coded into a platform. It comes from governance, independent scrutiny, accountability and remedy.


Nor is the government short of a blueprint. The K. Radhakrishnan Committee, constituted after the 2024 NEET controversy, submitted 101 recommendations covering the examination cycle. It proposed secure digital transmission, hybrid and computer-based testing, government-run centres, reduced dependence on private vendors, stronger state involvement, and a professionally restructured NTA.


Before another task force proposes further solutions, I want to know what was implemented, what was rejected, and why earlier reforms failed. A new committee cannot replace accountability for the previous one.


The deeper weakness lies in the architecture. NTA conducts examinations, manages vendors, responds to failures, and defends the process. The operator is also expected to act as guarantor.


As a country, we protect another process on which public trust depends through an independent Election Commission. If it can safeguard the vote by which governments are chosen, it can safeguard the examinations by which our futures are decided.


India needs an independent National Examinations Commission to set standards, audit examination bodies and vendors, investigate failures, hear appeals and prescribe remedies. NTA may remain an operator. It cannot be the sole guarantor of its own credibility. The commission need not conduct every test; it must ensure that common standards of security, transparency and accountability are independently enforceable.


I have fulfilled my obligations under the contract. I studied, paid the fee, travelled to the assigned centre, and accepted that a few hours could determine my future. I am entitled to know who safeguards that process and what remedy is available when it fails.


The state helped my grandmother enter. It helped my mother become capable. It taught me to reason, question evidence and demand accountability. It cannot celebrate that capability when I become a doctor, engineer or entrepreneur, yet resents it when I turn it on the system.


“You asked me to learn, reason and compete,” I am saying. “I did. I can now identify exactly where you have failed. What you lack is credibility.”


(The writer is a learning and development professional. Views personal.)

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