“I could not get admission, Sir,” the email began. “There is darkness ahead. I just don’t know what to do,” it continued.
I read and re-read the mail. I could almost touch his despondency, feel the darkness he was engulfed in. Similar messages on the phone from other students left me helpless.They are talking about admission to the PhD course.
What dejected them more was fact that the Department of Hindi at the University of Delhi was admitting 210 students – yet there was no place for them. When the list was published, the number astounded them. But to see that they couldn’t be a part even of this crowd was more disappointing.
Why are there no marks against the names? Why cannot I know the marks that you people gave me? Where is the merit list? What was the criteria for selection?
I have no answer for these questions. I am not in the Departmental Research Committee, I tell them. This is of no solace to them. At least the department must have a method, some criteria which is individual neutral, they ask. Should the committee not be accountable or answerable to the department? To the faculty? You, as faculty member, have to take ownership of the decision. How can you innocently say that I don’t know, as I was not involved in the decision-making process? Is the committee not accountable to us, the applicants?
How is it that some students were interviewed by only one teacher, some by two or three and some by four? Who graded whom? How do you ensure uniformity in assessment when you do it this way?
Again the answer that I have is that I was not in the committee.
What is this committee you are talking about? How do you constitute it? How is it that three or four people take all the decisions and all you can do is show helplessness?
Also read: Foreign Universities Regulations Reflect Modi Government’s Indifference To Higher Education
I cannot tell him that these are exactly the questions we are asking ourselves, and seeking an answer from the authorities. So I try to deflect his question. Why don’t you apply to other universities? “I do, I did. I am also not in the list of the successful students in the Jawaharlal Nehru University but I have no issues with them. They have published the marks. I missed by two marks. That is okay. I at least know how they assessed me and I am satisfied. The whole department was sitting in on the interview. All of them talked to me. I was very happy after the interview, unlike here in the Delhi University. Here I came out with a feeling of unease and uncertainty. I just didn’t know how I would be assessed.”
He is asking valid questions. But I have no answer. “What shocked me was that there were 210 students to be admitted. But when the admission process was notified, we were told that 98 positions were available. How did the number shoot up? How do you arrive at the number of the students you would admit to the PhD course?” he persisted with his questions.
No answer again. I go to the rule book. Any change in the number has to be notified at least a fortnight before the admission process begins. I also want to know the rationale behind the increase in numbers. I ask my head. He does not feel the need to respond. My colleagues in the committee are not bound to respond to us. The dean evades the question. Our emails and petitions to him and to higher authorities remain unanswered. So, how am I supposed to answer the students calling me with these queries? I ask them to go to the authorities. They smile. “If you, who have taught us for two years, don’t answer me, why should they who barely know us talk?”
“But 98 itself is a huge number,” a colleague from a different institution says disapprovingly. “How do you manage such large numbers?” “We have a sufficient number of teachers in the colleges,” I responded. “Okay. But do they have any say in the selection process? You impose your decision on them? Who decides the topic? Does the guide have any role there or not?” she asks.
“You cannot massify the PhD,” she reminds me. Now that is a different debate. We, as a teaching community, need to deliberate on this question. What is the purpose of a PhD? Why can’t it be a democratic right for everyone? This is a separate issue. I am trying to find an answer to the questions of my students who are operating in the field given to them. What are the rules of the game? This much they are entitled to know. But there is no way they can find the answer.
“All we ask for is transparency,” my student tells me. “I am not asking the JNU people questions I am putting before you.” I feel like telling him that the judgment of the teachers is mostly subjective. You have to trust them. Collectivity always corrects individual biases. Eventually you have to trust the collective decision.
Also read: Dalit Student’s Suicide Points to Well-Known – But Ignored – Caste Discrimination in IITs
This trust is shaken and there is no way for me to ask him not to question the wisdom of the collective decision because I see the norms of collectivity being ignored or broken. He knows better than me. Students who have access to the decision makers are the beneficiaries. But there are also some good students who have got through the process. “That is an exception, Sir. They prove my point. You have a sprinkling of excellence to justify the larger decision-making process,” he concludes.
We always tell the unsuccessful students to prepare more, come up with a better proposal. He tells me that he and others know that they need to do preparation of a different kind. It is not about the suitability of the research proposal!
This conversation is happening while I am sitting with my father, left alone by my mother who passed away last month. The call has interrupted our discussion about the rot that slowly hollowed higher education in Bihar. He was a teacher in the DAV College, Siwan, a moffusil town. His college was known for not allowing unfair means in the examinations. But my father used to get answer sheets from other colleges to evaluate. That was the time for us to get used to constant knocks on our door. We used to call them teerthayatri, as this period in the year is the time for Teerthayatra. They used to come with requests from someone who knew my father, even if distantly. They felt entitled to be obliged. After all, it was about marks for the examiner to give.
He, now in his 90s, recalled his discussion with his colleagues. “Netas can do transfer-posting, officers can give contracts. All we have are marks to give. Why make a big deal of it?” was their response.
That, however, destroyed the trustworthiness of degrees from Bihar. I know numerous examples of Bihari students facing humiliation outside Bihar for this. The teachers of Bihar lost their credibility.
Am I drawing parallels? We teachers have been traditionally regarded as a community of judgement. We did command respect as such. But to retain that right and respect, we need to be confident enough to defend our judgement. If extra-academic reasons drive it, we are bound to be questioned. With the numbers increasing at the gate, we need to assure the aspirants that they can trust the gatekeepers. Or we will lose our position to some faceless National Testing Agency.
Apoorvanand teaches at Delhi University.
Edited by Jahnavi Sen.
