₹289 Crore, 25 Acres, 15 Students: Inside India’s Quietest Archaeology Campus

Spread across 25 acres in Greater Noida, the Pandit Deendayal Upadhyaya Institute of Archaeology was envisioned as a premier hub for archaeological research and training in India. Built at a cost of nearly ₹289 crore and inaugurated in 2019 by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, the institute was meant to connect future generations with India’s rich historical legacy.

But a recent ground visit paints a starkly different picture.

On arrival, the vast campus appears architecturally impressive—wide internal roads, tall buildings, a 1,000-seat auditorium, and even an in-house museum. Yet, what stands out more than its infrastructure is its silence. Corridors are empty, rooms locked, and there is little to no visible academic activity.

Even at the entrance, small details hint at neglect. Letters missing from the institute’s nameboard reflect a deeper sense of incompleteness. Gaining entry itself proves difficult, with minimal administrative presence and unresponsive offices.

Inside, the scale of the infrastructure contrasts sharply with its usage. Despite having multiple floors designated for classrooms, labs, and libraries, many sections remain closed. Only one lift is functional, washrooms are not operational, and basic facilities like a reception area are absent.

The most striking revelation, however, is the student count. According to officials, the institute currently has only 15 students—10 girls and 5 boys—from across the country. This number appears disproportionately small for a campus of such magnitude.

Equally unusual is the absence of permanent faculty. An official from the institute explains that this is by design, not a gap. The institution operates on a model focused on field training rather than traditional classroom teaching. Visiting experts from the Archaeological Survey of India and other institutions conduct guest lectures, while students participate in fieldwork that can extend up to 60 days.

There is no fixed syllabus. Learning is based on practical exposure, excavation work, and report writing. While this approach may offer hands-on experience, it raises questions about academic structure, evaluation methods, and degree timelines.

Despite claims that multiple departments of ASI—including excavation units, science branches, and underwater archaeology divisions—operate from the campus, there is little visible evidence of their presence. Offices remain largely inactive, and staff movement is minimal.

The hostel tells a similar story. Though it houses students, access is restricted, and even basic information such as room count or occupancy is unclear among staff. Attempts to interact with students are denied, further limiting transparency.

What emerges is a paradox. A state-of-the-art campus, backed by significant public investment and institutional ambition, appears underutilised. The gap between infrastructure and activity raises broader questions about planning, execution, and accountability.

How does an institution with no permanent faculty, no structured syllabus, and only 15 students justify such scale? Why are facilities lying unused? And what does this mean for the future of specialised education in fields like archaeology?

For now, the campus stands impressive in design, but largely silent in function