Digital Education News | Expert Analysis and Commentary - Edinbox Editorial

When the Prime Minister Internship Scheme was launched as a pilot project a year ago, it raised high expectations among both young people and industry. The government claimed the scheme would prepare graduates and students for employment by offering hands-on work experience in some of the country’s leading companies. However, a year later, official data raises serious questions about the scheme’s ground-level reality.

The figures show that while interest in the PM Internship Scheme has been overwhelming, the outcomes have been extremely weak. Across the first and second phases combined, nearly 7.5 lakh young people registered for the programme. On the supply side, companies did not fall short either—over 1.27 lakh internship opportunities were posted in the first phase and more than 1.18 lakh in the second. Despite this, the number of candidates who actually completed their internships is shockingly low. Against a government target of 1.25 lakh completed internships, only 2,066 candidates have managed to finish the programme so far.

This gap is not merely statistical; it points to deeper flaws in the scheme’s design and implementation. In the first phase, more than 28,000 candidates accepted internship offers, but over 4,500 dropped out midway. The situation did not improve significantly in the second phase either—by the end of November, 2,053 candidates had left their internships incomplete. The obvious question is: why are so many young participants exiting the scheme?

The government’s intent was clear—to provide real-world work experience through a 12-month internship. But the long duration, limited stipends, or unsatisfactory working conditions may be major reasons behind the high dropout rate. For many graduates, committing to a year-long internship is not economically viable, especially when they are under pressure to secure stable employment. A mismatch between the expectations of companies and interns also appears to be a critical factor. If internships become mere formalities with limited learning value, disillusionment among youth is inevitable. This explains why, despite massive registrations, the final outcomes remain dismal.

Budget cuts have further compounded concerns. The scheme was initially allocated ₹840 crore, which was later reduced to ₹380 crore. This raises questions about whether the programme received the seriousness and resources required for its success.

The objective of the Prime Minister Internship Scheme is commendable, but current data clearly shows that merely posting opportunities and attracting registrations is not enough. Internships must be made financially and professionally attractive for young people, corporate accountability must be ensured, and monitoring mechanisms need to be strengthened. Otherwise, the scheme risks becoming yet another government initiative that looks successful on paper but fails on the ground.

Every Indian admission season comes with a familiar soundtrack: hoardings promising “world-class” degrees, social media reels of shiny campuses, and counsellor calls urging families to “book a seat” before deadlines close. But behind the noise sits a tougher reality: privately managed universities are operating in a red-ocean market—too many providers, too little differentiation—and today’s students and parents research harder than institutions assume.

Branding, in this environment, is not decoration. It is a survival system—one that must translate real academic substance into credible narratives, build trust fast in a high-stakes purchase, and run an efficient admissions funnel without creating ethical or reputational blowback.

“Branding is no longer ‘logo + tagline’—it is the aggregate stakeholder experience, a function of substance, not cosmetics.”

1) India’s admissions market is crowded—

but the real battle is for belief Higher education is an “experience/credence” service: families pay first and discover outcomes later. That makes trust the core currency. In a cluttered marketplace, branding helps reduce perceived risk, improves discoverability and shortlisting, and can strengthen fee resilience—but only if outcomes and student experience sustain the promise over time.

This is why some of the most respected private institutions in India have leaned into credibility architecture—the public signals that help families verify seriousness before they verify outcomes. Consider how Ashoka University has repeatedly positioned itself through faculty profiles, research visibility, and student outcomes rather than high-decibel mass persuasion; or how O.P. Jindal Global University (Sonipat) has built a case for outcome trust by foregrounding data-led narratives and external validation; or how Shiv Nadar University has held attention through interdisciplinary outcomes and research-led positioning, rather than “poster-first” marketing.

The catch is non-negotiable: branding cannot substitute for academic quality, governance, outcomes, transparency, and student experience. Any institution that tries to use marketing to “cover” weak substance may win a cycle, but will struggle to sustain reputation, referrals, and yield.

2) Stop reversing the order: substance → narrative → amplification

Many institutions amplify first (ads), invent narratives next (brochure language), and try to build substance last (labs, MoUs, hurried “initiatives”). The sustainable institutions invert the sequence: substance → narrative → amplification. This is the central discipline: build real institutional capability, convert it into auditable stories, and only then scale distribution. It is slower at the start—but it compounds, because every admission cycle becomes easier when stakeholders already believe your promises.

Here, India already has instructive cases. KREA University (Andhra Pradesh) has anchored communications around a distinctive learning model (“Interwoven Learning”) after building the pedagogy as the primary product. FLAME University (Pune) has strengthened its liberal education narrative through long-run curricular design and learner experience—then amplified it via alumni voices and substantive content. Ahmedabad University has often let faculty-led work and academic seriousness do the early heavy lifting, before pushing for mainstream attention.

“Most private universities amplify first… The institutions that fill seats sustainably do the opposite.”

3) Find your “mountain peaks”—

and make your promise falsifiable. In India, “excellence” has become a meaningless word because everyone uses it. A credible brand promise must be specific, falsifiable, and evidence-supported—built around a few genuine “mountain peaks” where the institution truly stands above peers.

A useful way to sharpen the promise is to answer three questions with discipline: Who is this for (and not for)? What outcomes will a learner realistically achieve? What institutional system produces those outcomes?

When these answers are clear, marketing stops sounding like everyone else—and admissions teams stop “selling everything to everyone,” which is often the fastest route to weak-fit enrolments and high regret.

Examples help clarify what “mountain peaks” look like on the ground. MIT World Peace University (MIT-WPU), Pune has leaned into a peace-and-ethics-inflected identity (including peace-oriented engineering narratives) to separate itself from generic “tech + placements” talk. Amity University has often argued scale and global visibility using external credentials and accreditations rather than only adjectives. Symbiosis International (Pune) has long owned a recognisable “internationalism + student services” story, supported by tie-ups and systems for inbound/outbound mobility.

4) Build the proof engine:

turn institutional enablers into admissions assets Universities often complain that “marketing is hard because education is complex.” The counter is operational: the institution already has its most persuasive content—if it documents its enablers and outcomes properly.

A practical approach is to treat internal enablers as a content-and-proof engine rather than fabricate promotional claims. Done well, this produces a steady stream of evidence: pedagogy in action, projects, lab outputs, fieldwork, internships, student portfolios, faculty explainers, and student support systems—each mapped to the decision anxieties of students and parents.

This is where several private universities have built visible “proof loops.” NMIMS (Mumbai) frequently showcases industry-linked learning assets—projects, market tools, and faculty-industry interface—because these compress the distance between “degree” and “job role.” Chitkara University (Punjab) has invested in public-facing showcases of student work and innovation outputs that function like an always-on admissions showroom. Manipal Academy of Higher Education (MAHE) has made clinical, simulation, and partnership ecosystems part of its public narrative, so parents see systems—not slogans.

5) Sell evidence of transformation—not “a campus”

Some enablers convert exceptionally well because they directly answer the fears families carry into the admissions decision: affordability, employability, and credibility.

Consider how a proof-based story system can be built around the “admissions gold” areas: scholarships (“Investing in Talent”), organic learning (“Learning by Doing”), skills training (“Career-ready from Day One”), and multi-assessment (“Show What You Know”). This is the pivot that changes everything: you stop selling “a campus,” and start selling evidence of transformation.

What does that look like in Indian practice?

 Scholarships as transformation proof: Institutions such as Ashoka and Shiv Nadar University have repeatedly used student journeys—who got funded, what they built, where they went next—to make financial aid feel like a merit-and-outcome system, not a discount.

“Learning by Doing” as visible pedagogy: UPES Dehradun has often highlighted capstones, industry-linked projects, and applied learning narratives to reduce the “will this be employable?” anxiety.

 Career readiness as a public dashboard: Large-volume private universities such as LPU often publicise competition wins, innovation outputs, incubations and role outcomes to show movement, not just infrastructure.

Portfolio as currency: In design and creative education, institutions like Pearl Academy and World University of Design have relied heavily on portfolio showcases to make competence visible—because in creative careers, work speaks louder than brochures.

“You stop selling a campus, and start selling evidence of transformation.”

6) Your website is the “ultimate brand statement”—

and your trust infrastructure. The institutional website is not a brochure. It is the definitive brand artifact—and, increasingly, your credibility backbone.

A high-performing admissions website typically does five jobs: proof hub; outcome clarity; program-market fit; conversion layer; and reputation defence.

In a market where parents assume “marketing exaggeration,” the website becomes your quiet differentiator—because it is where claims either stand up or collapse. This is why institutions that treat the website as a verifiability machine tend to earn disproportionate trust. Ashoka’s public-facing architecture—faculty, research, policies—signals “auditability.” NMIMS and O.P. Jindal have leaned into website-as-proof-centre logic: disclosures, processes, and clarity presented in one place. And universities like FLAME have experimented with richer “life on campus” visibility so that the lived experience doesn’t feel hidden behind poster language.

7) Gen Z won’t “believe” your ads. They will audit your footprint. Gen Z learners research institutions through social media to gauge authenticity; a strong footprint should reflect substantive capacity, not poster-making. Translated into practice: stop treating social as announcements. Treat it as public documentation of learning—student portfolio walk-throughs, faculty explainers, project micro-documentaries, transparent webinars, and parent-facing trust content.

This is also where “earned trust” is built: thought leadership and credible events that signal seriousness beyond paid media.

India’s private universities are already moving—unevenly, but clearly—in this direction. Amity’s social channels often foreground student work and wins to feel “real,” not manufactured. Shiv Nadar University has used explainers and long-form conversations to build faculty credibility in public view. UPES has leaned into student diaries and applied learning storytelling. And institutions such as MIT-WPU and FLAME have used conversation formats—talk series, faculty conversations, theme-led programming—to create a footprint that reads like a knowledge institution rather than an ad campaign.“Stop treating social media as posters… Treat it as public documentation

of learning.”

8) Treat admissions as a measurable funnel—

not an annual Panic If you want optimum admissions, you need a measurable funnel with disciplined stage tracking: lead → qualified lead → application started → submitted → offer → enrolment (yield) → 30/60-day attendance (retention proxy).

Then map content to stage: top-of-funnel reputation; mid-funnel proof and fit; bottom-funnel transparency on fees, scholarships, safety, escalation, deadlines.

The uncomfortable truth: many private universities don’t lose admissions because they lack leads. They lose them because trust breaks right when parents ask, “Show me what you deliver—and what you do if something goes wrong.”

This is why operationally mature institutions behave like high-integrity consumer brands: they instrument the funnel, reduce friction, and remove ambiguity. Large funnel operators such as NMIMS and LPU have increasingly treated admissions as a stage-wise pipeline with measurable conversion points. Ecosystems such as Manipal and Chitkara have leaned into dashboards and systems thinking—connecting lead sources, counselling, and deposits into a single operating rhythm. Meanwhile, higher-selectivity institutions such as KREA and Ashoka have often focused on a different funnel discipline: applicant experience and credibility at each touchpoint, deliberately avoiding coercive “sales culture” even when volumes are pressured.

9) The caution zones:

what quietly destroys brands (and seat yield). In a tightening reputational environment, the fastest way to damage admissions is to trigger distrust through overclaims, rankings misuse, coercive sales culture, privacy negligence, or discount-led positioning.

The recurring minefield is outcome claims—placements, ranks, “#1”—because they invite scrutiny and backlash when they are not defensible with proof. The safer discipline is simple: publish auditable methodologies and avoid absolute claims unless they can be supported by verified data.

The other slow poison is a “spammy” funnel: if the admissions experience feels manipulative, the brand damage is immediate—even before any formal complaint. The positive contrast is instructive. Institutions that consistently prefer verifiable, third-party-supported narratives—and maintain “single source of truth” discipline on websites and disclosures—tend to be more resilient when public scrutiny rises. The core advantage is not that they are perfect; it is that their claims are easier to audit, clarify, and defend.

The institutions that win won’t be the loudest. They’ll be the most provable. Strip away the hype and a privately managed university sustains admissions by doing three things well: deliver a distinctive learning model, publish auditable proof (not adjectives), and run an ethical, measurable funnel that respects families as high-stakes decision-makers.

Across India, the institutions that keep showing up as “proof-over-promise” examples—Shiv Nadar, Ashoka, FLAME, Ahmedabad University—demonstrate a simple strategic truth: reputation compounds when the public can verify the systems behind the story. And operationally scaled institutions such as NMIMS, UPES, Chitkara show another truth: disciplined documentation of learning, outcomes, and student support can sustain admissions even in fiercely competitive metros.

In India’s private higher education market, the winning “thought” will not be “they advertise everywhere.” It will be: they are credible, transparent, future-ready—and they can prove it. And credible universities will gradually find honourable mentions in NAAC Accreditation, NIRF Ranking, QS and Times Higher Education ranking.

On a humid afternoon in a small Bihar town, a first-generation college aspirant stands outside a bank clutching a thin folder of certificates. He has earned his place at a reputable private university in Kolkata. What he hasn’t earned—because no exam allows him to—is the shortfall of ₹42,000 in first-semester fees. His merit has opened the gate; his economic reality may still shut it.

Multiply that tension across millions of Indian households and you begin to understand the quiet crisis building beneath the promise of higher education. Scholarships in India are not an optional add-on. They are now the difference between a system that expands and a generation quietly pushed back into the margins.

Under the National Education Policy (NEP) 2020, India has set an ambitious goal: lift its Gross Enrolment Ratio (GER) from 28.4% to 50% by 2035. That means bringing more than 60% additional students into colleges and universities—and ensuring they stay long enough to graduate. Without a predictable, transparent, and timely scholarship ecosystem, that target becomes less policy vision and more political slogan.

This is a story of why India must treat scholarships as national infrastructure, how the current system actually works on the ground, and what universities must urgently rethink if we truly want grassroots talent to walk confidently into the future.

From Kindness to Statecraft: How India Must Rethink Scholarships

For decades, scholarships were rooted in charity—philanthropists, donors, or the occasional empathetic administrator stepping in to support “poor but deserving” students. That world is gone.

Post-pandemic India is navigating job losses, inflation, rising cost of living, and the steep expense of running modern university campuses—labs, hostels, digital platforms, research facilities. Families that could once stretch to accommodate fees can no longer do so. Many students secure admission but cannot afford to join; others join but drop out mid-semester because money simply doesn’t arrive on time.

For universities, this is not a footnote. A dropout means:

• lost future revenue
  
  
• damaged placement and alumni outcomes
  
  
• a reputation in local communities that says, “These campuses are not meant for families like yours.”

Institutions across the Global South have begun adopting the idea of “empathetic universities.” Financial aid is not a welfare activity—it is a strategic investment in retention, completion, and institutional credibility. Every fee waiver or emergency grant is not a cost but a protection of long-term institutional health.

If India is serious about democratising higher education, scholarships must move from a side-desk in a dusty admin corridor to the centre of institutional planning.

Who Actually Pays for Scholarships? The Multi-Wallet Map

Every scholarship letter hides multiple layers of funding—from governments, universities, corporates, communities, and alumni.

1. The Government Bedrock

The National Scholarship Portal (NSP) has consolidated major central schemes:

• Central Sector Scheme (CSSS/PM-USP): ₹12,000–₹20,000 annually for meritorious low-income students.
  
  
• Post-matric support for SC/ST/OBC students: tuition, stipends, non-refundable fees.
  
  
• Top Class Education schemes: full coverage for high-performing marginalised students.
  

Institutes like IITs add their own equity measures:

• 100% fee waiver for income below ₹1 lakh
  
  
• 2/3rd waiver for ₹1–5 lakh
  
  
• Interest-free loans for remaining dues
  

This ensures a landless farmer’s child sits in the same classroom as a CEO’s.

2. States Add Their Own Layers

Odisha, the North-East, Himachal, and Telangana run targeted schemes—small amounts, but often the difference between staying enrolled and dropping out.

The real challenge is not absence of schemes, but lack of navigation. Students rarely know what they’re eligible for without institutional guidance.

3. Inside the Campus: Public vs Private Institutions

Public institutions rely on fee waivers and government support.
Private universities—especially not-for-profit ones—now run detailed need-based assessments, sometimes covering:

• 25%–100% tuition
  
  
• hostel + mess
  
  
• even small living stipends
  

This is quietly redrawing the old map where “private” meant “elitist.”

4. Corporate, Community and Philanthropic Funds

India’s CSR law, mandating 2% profit spending, has birthed:

• STEM scholarships for girls
  
  
• scholarships for aspirational districts
  
  
• disability-inclusive schemes
  
  
• community and faith-based bursaries
  
  

Often these act as crucial top-ups to bridge the last mile.

The New Categories of Scholarships: Beyond Merit vs Means

Indian scholarships now fall into a broader spectrum:

1. Pure Merit – attracts toppers; boosts institutional brand.
   
   
2. Need-Based / Merit-Cum-Means – the most effective for mobility.
   
   
3. Social Justice & Identity-Based – supporting SC, ST, OBC, minorities, PwD, EWS.
   
   
4. Gender, Region, Talent Focused – girl-child, musicians, athletes, North-East students, Ladakh scholars.
   
   
5. Crisis & Completion Grants – for medical emergencies, lost income, last-semester dues.
   
   
6. Digital Access Support – devices, data for blended learning.
   

These emerging forms acknowledge the hidden costs of studying—travel, nutrition, devices, rent—which often determine success more than tuition.

Cracks in the System: Delays, Leakages, and a Trust Deficit

Students consistently face:

• delayed fund disbursals
  
  
• unclear income documentation rules
  
  
• inconsistent scheme combinations
  
  
• poor coordination between colleges, banks, and district offices
  

Worse, investigative reports in several states show ghost beneficiaries, siphoned funds, and forged lists.

Every delay deepens mistrust. Every scam pushes a vulnerable student closer to dropout.

What Universities Must Do—Now

The good news: universities do not need to wait for national reform. They can act today.

1. Make Scholarships Core Strategy

• Integrate financial aid with admissions and outreach.
  
  
• Track effects on retention, not just count of scholarships distributed.
  

2. Build a Diversified Funding Base

Blend:

• government schemes
  
  
• CSR partnerships
  
  
• alumni giving
  
  
• community trusts
  

and publish transparent impact reports.

3. Create a One-Stop “Scholarship Navigation Desk”

An institutional NSP helpdesk can:

• guide families through applications
  
  
• map all eligible schemes for each student
  
  
• help secure loans only as a last resort
  
  

For first-generation learners, this support is transformative.

4. Use Tech with Empathy

• WhatsApp reminders
  
  
• multilingual chatbots
  
  
• digital grievance tracking
  

Let automation free staff for human problems.

5. Protect Emergency & Completion Funds

A ₹10,000 grant at the right moment can prevent a dropout.
Universities must institutionalise such quick-response funds.

A Scholarship is a Social Contract

A scholarship letter is not merely a financial document. It is an assertion of belonging.

When a Dalit girl from eastern Uttar Pradesh receives a Top Class scholarship, a central grant, and a full waiver, it tells her:
“Your place in this classroom is not conditional.”

When a private university writes to a rickshaw-puller’s son saying, “Your fees are waived—come study,” it rewrites generational narratives about who “belongs” in higher education.

When a state quietly reforms its portals and ensures timely payment, it builds bridges across centuries of exclusion.

If India truly wants to become a $10-trillion knowledge economy, it cannot leave half its young talent standing outside campus gates, admission letter in hand, waiting for a bank draft that never comes.

For every vice-chancellor, trustee and policymaker, the question is now stark:

Will scholarships in your institution remain a marketing tagline—or become the empathetic engine that powers India’s mobility, merit and modernity?

For that young student in Bihar—and millions like him—the answer determines whether higher education becomes a staircase of opportunity or another locked door.

The author is the Chief Mentor of Edinbox and works as a Director with the Techno India group of Kolkata, along with being the Principal Adviser of the Kolkata based university of the group.

Where Technology Meets Trust, Governance, and Human Changee

The post-pandemic Indian university is no longer debating whether to adopt technology. That argument was decisively settled during COVID-19, when campuses were forced to go digital almost overnight. The question confronting higher education today is far more complex and consequential: how to govern, integrate, and humanise technology that has quietly become the operating system of the university itself.

Across campus India—from elite metropolitan institutions to universities in Tier-2 and Tier-3 cities—the student experience has been fundamentally rewired. A final-year student applying for an internship no longer gathers photocopies or queues outside administrative offices. Instead, a smartphone replaces the file folder. Transcripts, degree certificates, and credit records arrive digitally within minutes—verifiable, shareable, and instantly usable. What once felt like an exception reserved for a privileged few is rapidly becoming the baseline expectation of the post-pandemic Indian university.

This visible convenience signals a much deeper transformation. Technology is no longer “ed-tech” in the narrow sense of online lectures or virtual classrooms. It has evolved into an end-to-end digital fabric that shapes teaching and assessment, admissions and examinations, governance and compliance, finance and HR, research administration, campus safety, and even alumni engagement. While the pandemic accelerated adoption, the post-pandemic phase is forcing institutions to confront the harder, less glamorous work: rationalising fragmented systems, securing data, ensuring interoperability, and delivering measurable academic and administrative outcomes.

From emergency online classes to a digital fabric

During COVID-19, universities moved online at breakneck speed. That emergency pivot kept learning alive, but it also produced what many campuses now candidly describe as “digital sprawl”—a cluttered patchwork of apps, platforms, and departmental workarounds adopted for speed rather than strategy. The post-pandemic question, therefore, is no longer “Can we adopt technology?” but rather: can universities integrate systems, protect institutional and student data, and use technology to demonstrably improve learning quality, retention, transparency, and student experience?

Future-ready campuses are now being imagined as layered digital ecosystems. At the foundation lies a resilient network and cloud backbone—high bandwidth, secure, and always on. Above it sits the academic core, anchored by Learning Management Systems tightly integrated with student information systems. The top layer is the emerging “smart campus,” where sensors, automation, analytics, and AI are used to optimise everything from classroom utilisation and energy efficiency to safety alerts and service delivery.

Backbone, brain, and senses

India’s higher education transformation is not being driven by institutions alone. It is increasingly shaped by national digital public infrastructure. Initiatives such as the Academic Bank of Credits (ABC), DigiLocker, the National Academic Depository (NAD), and SWAYAM are nudging universities toward interoperability, modularity, and verifiable credentials by design.

The policy intent is unmistakable: seamless credit mobility, trusted digital degrees, and blended learning at scale. For students in smaller or resource-constrained universities, this opens access to high-quality electives in emerging fields without forcing every campus to build niche expertise from scratch. For institutions, however, it demands cleaner data practices, standardised workflows, and audit-ready governance—often requiring deep internal restructuring.

What integration looks like on campus

Early institutional examples offer a glimpse of where Indian campuses are headed. At KIIT University, large-scale ERP-driven automation aims to make the campus function “as one system,” integrating academics, research, consultancy, HR, and administration. BITS Pilani’s vision for an AI-enabled smart campus shows how hybrid learning and digital services are being embedded into campus design itself, rather than layered on as afterthoughts.

Other shifts are quieter but equally transformative. Experiments with blockchain-based credentials at institutions such as Amity University and IGNOU seek to tackle verification delays and credential fraud. Programmes like IIT Madras’ online BS degrees point to a distributed university model—online teaching combined with physical assessments—that blends access with academic credibility.

The pedagogy test

Yet technology alone does not transform education—pedagogy does. Frameworks such as SAMR and TPACK underscore a critical truth: meaningful integration requires redesigning learning tasks, retraining faculty, and building institutional instructional design capacity. Uploading PDFs or recording lectures is not transformation; rethinking assessment, feedback, collaboration, and student support is.

This is where many universities struggle. Buying software is easier than changing academic culture. But the post-pandemic student is quick to notice the difference. They recognize transformation when learning becomes interactive, feedback is timely, pathways are personalized, and systems respond when they struggle.

The human bottleneck

Technology integration is often framed as a technical upgrade. In reality, it is a change-management project with human beings at its centre. Faculty resistance rarely reflects hostility to innovation; it more often stems from lack of confidence, rising workload pressures, and anxiety that technology may erode the value of classroom teaching.

India has attempted to address this gap through initiatives such as the Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya National Mission on Teachers and Teaching (PMMMNMTT), which has reportedly trained over 126,000 beneficiaries through Teaching Learning Centres focused on ICT-enabled pedagogy. Alongside this, the rise of instructional designers as “learning architects” signals a growing recognition that quality digital education requires specialised roles, not just individual effort.

Resistance can also be institutional and political. Debates at universities like Delhi University over SWAYAM credit transfers—often framed as fears of “digital displacement” or “teacherless universities”—reflect genuine anxieties about workload, autonomy, and academic identity. Universities that dismiss these concerns risk fractured trust; those that address them transparently can position technology as augmentation, not replacement.

Toward a human-centred digital university

The post-pandemic lesson for campus India is clear. Technology is no longer a department or a set of tools used by the enthusiastic few. It is the connective tissue of the modern university—powerful enough to widen access and improve quality, yet equally capable of amplifying inequity if deployed without ethics, capability, and trust.

In the years ahead, the success of India’s digital universities will not be measured by how advanced their platforms are, but by how thoughtfully technology is governed, how inclusively it is deployed, and how humanely it is woven into academic life.

The author is Chief Mentor at Edinbox, Director at the Techno India Group, Kolkata, and Principal Adviser to a Kolkata-based university within the group.

India has always spoken proudly of its demographic dividend, but the latest dropout figures reveal a painful contradiction: the country is losing its children—not to conflict or disease—but to a slowly widening education vacuum. In the past five years alone, 65.7 lakh students have dropped out of school, and nearly half of them—29.8 lakh—are adolescent girls. This is not just a statistic. It is a national warning siren.

The data, presented in Parliament by Minister of State for Women and Child Development Savitri Thakur, exposes an uncomfortable truth: despite schemes, slogans, and budgets, India is failing millions of its school-age children. Even more worrying is the stark unevenness across states, with Gujarat emerging as the most unsettling example.

Also Read:  Bridging the Skill Gap for India’s Girls: Why Skill-Based Education Must Lead the Future Published on 12th

Gujarat’s 341% Spike: A Case Study in Governance Blind Spots

Gujarat, a state often showcased as an education performer, has reported a shocking 341% surge in school dropouts. The numbers are staggering: 2.4 lakh out-of-school children in 2025–26, including 1.1 lakh adolescent girls. Only a year earlier, the state had reported just 54,541. The explosion in figures is not a statistical anomaly—it is a systemic red flag.

When a state reports just one out-of-school girl in 2024 and 1.1 lakh the following year, it raises a fundamental question: Were we measuring reality, or merely comfort? The jump reflects not just failure in retention but also failure in identification, monitoring, and honest reporting.

Assam, Uttar Pradesh, and the Geography of Disadvantage

Assam, with 1.5 lakh out-of-school children, and Uttar Pradesh, with 99,218, present their own troubling landscape. In both states, girls disproportionately vanish from classrooms. These numbers come at a time when several state governments, including Uttar Pradesh, have merged schools with fewer than 50 students—a decision now being viewed through an uncomfortable lens. Were consolidation exercises pushing children away rather than pulling them in?

For girls especially, education is not just a right—it is a battle. Migration, poverty, unpaid household work, child labour, and entrenched social norms continue to create a hostile environment for their schooling. Policymakers cannot keep pretending these barriers exist on the periphery—they sit at the heart of the dropout crisis.

Schemes Exist—but Are They Reaching the Last Girl?

The Centre points to initiatives under Samagra Shiksha—new schools up to senior secondary level, expanded Kasturba Gandhi Balika Vidyalayas, free uniforms, textbooks, and transport. On paper, these interventions look robust. On the ground, they are riddled with inconsistencies.

Even the much-publicized “Bringing Children Back to School” campaign depends heavily on state machinery, School Management Committees, and local bodies. But without accountability, such drives risk becoming tokenistic exercises—annual rituals rather than long-term commitments.

The government says ₹56,694 crore was spent under Samagra Shiksha in 2024–25. But the real question is: How much of this translated into actual retention? Throwing money at a problem without monitoring outcomes is not policy—it is optics.

The Girls We Are Losing

Every dropout is a future prematurely closed. For adolescent girls, the stakes are even higher: early marriage, unsafe work, trafficking, and the permanent erosion of economic independence. Once a girl leaves school, the probability of her returning is devastatingly low.

India cannot claim progress if nearly 30 lakh girls disappear from classrooms in five years.

What Needs to Change Now

As an education journalist watching this crisis unfold, I see three urgent shifts India must make:

1. Dropout Data Must Be Transparent and Real-Time
   States reporting near-zero dropouts one year and lakhs the next signals broken systems—not progress. We need district-level dashboards that expose, not hide, realities.
   
   
2. Policies Must Centre Girls, Not Treat Them as an Afterthought
   Transport support, safety infrastructure, menstrual hygiene facilities, and community mobilization must be non-negotiable priorities.
   
   
3. School Mergers and Rationalisation Must Stop Until Impact is Assessed
   Closing small schools may make administrative sense, but for children in remote areas, it widens the distance between them and their right to learn.
   

A National Crisis We Are Not Calling by Its Name

India cannot afford an education disaster of this magnitude. A country that dreams of a $5-trillion economy cannot allow 65 lakh children to quietly walk out of its classrooms. The dropout crisis is not an education issue—it is a social, economic, and moral crisis.

And until policymakers acknowledge it as such, the numbers will keep rising, and the children—especially girls—will keep disappearing.

This is not just a report. It is an alarm. And India must listen before an entire generation slips through the cracks.

About the Author: 

Nibedita is an independent journalist honoured by the Government of India for her contributions to defence journalism.She has been an Accredited Defence Journalist since 2018, certified by the Ministry of Defence, Government of India.  With over 15 years of experience in print and digital media, she has extensively covered rural India, healthcare, education, and women’s issues. Her in-depth reporting has earned her an award from the Government of Goa back to back in 2018 and 2019. Nibedita’s work has been featured in leading national and international publications such as The Jerusalem Post, Down To Earth, Alt News, Sakal Times, and others

The message from the COP30 conference in Belém, Brazil, is very clear: from targets to delivery when it comes to climate action. The focus in the years to come will include but not be limited to achieving a circular economy in countries such as India.

The latest conference, COP30, highlighted that it is no longer a time when applause for ambitious climate action targets will do. Only when practical solutions become tangible can the victory in this war against climate change be achieved. The battle this time is not just centered on “how much reduction” but rather on “how and where these reductions will come from.” The Belém Declaration concerning global green industrialization thus reflects this reality since it focuses on trade, industry, and resource relationships with climate diplomacy.

For India, this moment holds special significance. With the country quickly lining up to become a global manufacturing powerhouse and simultaneously attempting to achieve net-zero, being able to gauge and assess a green future in India will not simply be based on how many photo voltaic panels they can install. Rather, it will be based on how effectively steel, cement, aluminium, and plastics can be used. Green growth, clearly, is not just based on renewable energy but smart industry.

The country's cities alone produce close to 62 million tons every year, with a negligible portion being recycled. Going by this trend, this amount is projected to surpass 400 million tons in 2050. However, this challenge that is soon to come with waste management holds an immense opportunity as well. The boost in the circular economy will see materials obtained from waste used in replacement of virgin materials, hence alleviating pressure on dump sites and injecting life into the economy. This will see over $2 trillion in value and 10 million jobs established by 2050.

Secondary production—the production of products using scraps or materials at the end of their life—is a feasible and very necessary route. It is one of the cleaner methods of turning waste into a raw material this way. This will directly fulfill SDG goal 12 but will also fulfill SDG targets 8, 9, 11, and 13.

A case in point is the aluminium production chain. A total of 5% of the original amount of electricity is all that is required if aluminium is recycled compared to when it is mined from bauxite. Furthermore, in India, nearly 40% of aluminium production is from recycled production, resulting in a reduced level of CO₂ emissions by over 90%. Most of the aluminium production in India, which utilizes coal-fired electricity, will perhaps face a challenge with European countries imposing a ‘carbon tax.’

COP30 presented this challenge in employment terms. Already, the recycling industry provides jobs for millions of people across the globe, and in India alone, this is projected to go above 10 million by 2050. As a sector where MSMEs preponderate, this sector is equally vital in terms of GDP and exports of India. The message is simple—the circular economy can become a dual engine for employment and climate action.

However, one word of warning is necessary in this context. A transition that focuses too heavily on automation may see an increase in productivity but not necessarily jobs. An important requirement for a green and healthy economy in India is to bring all waste pickers, small scraps vendors, and informal sector workers into this new industrial order.

The take-home message in COP30 is very clear: "Implementation matters more than promises," and this is an important message in this context because, in this case, "India can do better in encouraging low-carbon materials and facilitating industries and MSMEs in a green transition," which can definitely be achieved through some important steps such as "prioritizing recycled materials in public procurement, improving scrap availability systems, technology upgradation, and labor formalization." 

At the end of the day, this is not simply an environmental policy—it is an economic one. So-called secondary production reduces carbon emissions per unit of production but increases jobs requiring human inputs. The COP30 referred to this technique as the ‘Job-Carbon Dividend’: less carbon, more jobs. If a serious attempt is made in India, it can show to the whole world that green growth is not an expense but an investment of a lifetime in making both earth and economy green.e