Shashi Warrier | How Certificates Can Become Big Business

Ex-professor Raghavan turned up one evening, looking careworn and despairing. “What’s up?” I asked, seating him and fetching him a large drink.

“I don’t think we’ll ever have a good education system in this country!” he said.

Prita joined us with snacks. “Why?” she asked as he helped himself. “You’ve seen how well graduates from our better universities do when they go abroad.”

“They’re the exceptions,” Raghavan replied. “They’re mostly the best products of the IITs. They’re the best one per cent of the best one per cent. The average degree-holder from the average Indian university is unemployable.”

“Hasn’t it been like this for the last fifty years?” asked Prita.

“Yes,” replied Raghavan. “But the system’s getting worse. You know about the Neet question papers leak.”

“What about the New Education Policy of 2020?” she asked.

“People think that the new policy caused the leak,” said Raghavan.

“How could that be?” asked Prita.

With the new policy,” said Raghavan, “the government introducted centralised exams like Neet and CUET. That’s given birth to a new range of institutions that coach students for these exams. More and more people who can afford it — and some who can’t — are shifting to private schools and coaching classes with centralised curricula that train youngsters specifically for these tests.

“The NEP said that it’s about testing ‘core competencies’, whatever that is, and not ‘rote memorisation’, whatever that is… But what it’s really gone and done is create more coaching classes. And, of course, they’re more competitive than ever.”

The doorbell rang just then, and, when I opened the door, there was Murthy on the doorstep, leading with his nose for Scotch, as usual. “I was passing by…” he began.

“Come right in,” I said, interrupting him. “Raghavan’s already here, upset and consoling himself in the usual manner, and I’ll get you your drink right away.”

“It’s been difficult all round,” said Murthy. “Let’s see what we can make of Raghavan’s problem.”

I went off to the kitchen to fetch refreshments and a glass for Murthy while Prita and Raghavan brought Murthy up to date with Raghavan’s complaint. As I handed Murthy his glass and a napkin, Raghavan began telling us all why it all happened. “The education policy has got it backwards,” he said. “We should have started with schools before we moved on to colleges. If you have poor schooling standards there’s no kind of policy that’s going to make sure that college education will be good.”

“But who decides what schools teach,” asked Murthy, “and how they run examinations?”

“State governments,” replied Raghavan.

“That’s part of the problem,” said Murthy. “Unless states follow a broadly uniform school education policy, how can the central government implement a working higher education policy across the country? So it’s not that easy.”

“It isn’t,” said Raghavan, “so what do you propose we do?”

“I haven’t proposed anything,” said Murthy, “and I won’t.”

“Why not?” asked Raghavan.

“Because no education policy is perfect,” replied Murthy. “We live in an electoral democracy, so the opposition will always oppose any education policy. You see, people vote for politicians they like, and, broadly, they get what they asked for.”

“What do you mean?” asked Raghavan.

“I mean that people want to go through school and college without trouble,” said Murthy, “and, at the end of their education, get jobs with good salaries, healthcare, regular raises, a pension at the end of it… No party or leader can deliver that.”

“So?” asked Raghavan.

“A working education policy would teach kids to think,” replied Murthy, “and they’d figure this out for themselves, and maybe vote for someone different. No politician wants that. So there’s no way you’re getting an education system that makes students capable of thinking critically.”

“What about the problems with the present system?” asked Raghavan.

“Remember the Roman poet, Juvenal?” said Murthy. “He talked about how the emperor gave the masses just enough bread to survive, and distracted them with circuses. Well, this Neet paper leak is one of the circuses…”

“What do you mean?” asked Raghavan.

“Only a few people, committed teachers like you and maybe a few journalists and others,” replied Murthy, “want a better system. Others might want it, but they prefer distractions like the Neet scandal, or that shootout in Patna between the founders of the two most popular coaching centres in the city. That’s the big circus. The public wonder who’s going to win: Khan Saheb or Roshan Anand. Like a cricket match.”

“But that’s mafia violence!” said Raghavan. “What’s that got to do with education policy?”

“Where there’s money there’s mafia,” replied Murthy. “Their touts work with coaching centres. A few days before the examinations, they spread rumours that the paper’s been leaked, that it can be had for a certain large sum of money. Anxious parents pay large amounts of cash to touts, who give them papers that look like the real thing but aren’t. The thing is, these parents can’t go to the police afterwards because that would mean admitting that they paid for a leaked paper…”

“So how do you think we can deal with this?” asked Prita.

“We can’t,” replied Murthy. “Mafias adapt faster than policies change... But parents might start asking touts for evidence that the papers are the real thing, and there’s none… There was a time when people could get pensions for being freedom fighters if they could prove they’d been jailed by the British. So now touts will give parents certificates that they’ve been in prison for leaking papers to prove their papers are legit.”

“And then we’ll have an industry forging those certificates!” said Prita. “Business as usual.”