Education in India: From Gurukul to Grandeur

                           

“Education is the manifestation of the perfection already in man.” – Swami Vivekananda

“The first principle of true teaching is that nothing can be taught... the mind has to be consulted in its own growth.” – Sri Aurobindo

 

These timeless words are not mere philosophical narrations; they are quiet awakenings—echoes from a time when education was a soulful pursuit, not a mechanical process. As someone who has inhabited this arena for over four decades, I have seen education evolve—from chalkboards and circle-time storytelling to data sheets and digital dashboards. I have watched with both pride and pain as we have expanded our reach but shrunk our purpose.

What was once a sacred journey of self-discovery, inner transformation, and holistic development has slowly morphed into a transactional race for grades, ranks, and credentials. We have come to measure success not by a student’s ability to think, feel, or create, but by their percentile in a test they may not even believe in.

This is not a lament for the past—it is a call to remember it. To realign with the essence of learning before it slips too far beyond our grasp.

Gurukul: Where Learning Was Living

There was an era in India when education was not merely a phase of life—it was a sacred rhythm that guided every breath. The Gurukul system was not just an educational model; it was a living philosophy, where learning unfolded in communion with nature, under the guidance of enlightened teachers who were revered as fountainheads of knowledge and virtue.

In these havens of wisdom, students did not simply attend school—they lived with their Gurus. They rose with the sun not to chase scores, but to contemplate verses, observe silence, and perform duties that shaped both intellect and character. Education encompassed the Vedas, music, mathematics, astronomy, logic, and medicine, but its true brilliance lay in cultivating viveka (discernment), shraddha (faith), and seva (selfless service). The Guru was not an employee of the institution; he was its soul, a guide, a philosopher, and a moral compass. Reverence towards them was not cultural ornamentation—it was recognition of a life steeped in truth. They taught not just by word, but by embodiment. And in return, the shishya offered not just obedience, but trust.

This reverence for wisdom echoed through India’s ancient universities as well. At the heart of our scholarly legacy stood Nalanda University—not just a centre of learning, but a civilisation of intellect. Established in the 5th century CE, Nalanda attracted seekers from across Asia—China, Tibet, Korea, and Persia. Scholars like Xuanzang and Faxian marvelled at its vast libraries, its rigorous debates, and its ethos of inquiry.

Reading The Golden Road by William Dalrymple, I was moved by his portrayal of Nalanda as more than an institution—it was a pilgrimage of the mind, where even the gatekeepers were philosophers, and learning flowed like a sacred current through every corridor.

India’s contributions to global knowledge were not accidental. They were cultivated. Aryabhata introduced the world to the concept of zero. Brahmagupta gave us negative numbers and algebra. Bhaskaracharya offered the foundations of calculus centuries before the West and it is well established fact that Maths which originated in India was adopted by west via middle East. These scholars thrived not under the glare of standardised assessments but in the gentle brilliance of a system that celebrated reflection over repetition, dialogue over dictation.

For in the Guru’s wisdom and the student’s humility lies the education India was known for—and can be again.

From Knowledge to Clerical Obedience: Colonial Impact

With the advent of British rule, India’s thriving educational ecosystem, once as organically rooted as a banyan tree with its countless branches of wisdom, was slowly and systematically ripped to shreds. I regard Thomas Babington Macaulay’s Minute on Indian Education, delivered on February 2, 1835, not merely as a policy proposal, but as a civilizational rupture. Macaulay’s insistence on English as the medium of instruction and his preference for Western sciences and literature was not just a shift in pedagogy—it was a cultural exclusion. He dismissed centuries of indigenous knowledge as “worthless,” reducing Sanskrit and Persian scholarship to relics, and argued that government funding should flow solely into promoting English education. The shift was quiet and deliberate—but its consequences echoed through generations, distancing learners from the very soil that once birthed seekers and sages.

Post-Independence: Growth, But at What Cost?

At the dawn of India’s independence in 1947, education was envisaged as a potent instrument for the nation’s resurrection from the ravages of colonial subjugation. An upsurge of schools and universities followed, heralding a gradual ascent in literacy rates. Progressive policies were enacted to democratize education and extend its reach to the remotest regions of the country.

However, amid this commendable pursuit, a shift occurred from qualitative excellence to quantitative expansion. Classrooms swelled beyond capacity, and the once profound teacher-student relationship was reduced to mere formality. The vestiges of colonial pedagogy lingered, prioritising rote over reasoning and memorisation over imagination.

More dishearteningly, education increasingly came to be perceived narrowly as a conduit to employment. Yet, employment was never the ultimate aim of education; it was but an ancillary outcome. The paramount objective was the holistic development of the individual, nurturing critical reasoning, emotional insight, and ethical discernment. Regrettably, this foundational purpose appears to have been eclipsed in contemporary discourse.

Modern Education: A Data-Driven Game

As an educator, I cannot remain silent while witnessing the gradual erosion of what education is truly meant to be. Today, our system—shaped by colonial legacies and driven by modern-day pressures—has lost sight of its fundamental purpose. Education in India has become a relentless numbers game: board results paraded like medals, schools boasting about toppers, and coaching centres churning out rank-holders like factories. The very soul of learning—the child—is now conspicuously absent from the centre of this narrative.

We have shifted our focus from nurturing curiosity to chasing cut-offs. In this race, the learner is no longer regarded as a developing mind brimming with potential but as a mere statistic to be exploited. Learning has been reduced to a source of anxiety, and classrooms have become rehearsal halls for exams rather than sanctuaries for exploration and expression. We no longer teach students to wonder, question, or imagine—we train them to tick boxes, write standardised answers, and conform to prescribed patterns. Memorisation is praised; mindfulness is lost.

Education sems to have become synonymus to examination as focus has shifted more on passing as many students as possible and the word Failure has become stigma for almost all. To reduce stress should we dilute the curriculum or improve learning process? I am sure all must vote for the later. Central board of secondary education has proposed to conduct board examination twice and the students can opt to appear in both or one. While I appreciate the noble intent behind this policy and acknowledge the importance of examinations, an excess of tests can have its repercussions The academic year becomes stretched so thin that students end up with less time to reflect or truly learn. Much of the school year is consumed by preparation, testing, and recovery, leaving negligible room for genuine growth. There is no breathing space—only relentless pressure to perform. This is not education. This is endurance. All can very well relate with the plight of students specially in secondary schools who spent more time on writing examination than real learning.

I urge policymakers to awaken from their slumber and confront this stark reality. The child, who once stood at the very heart of the Gurukul system—respected as a seeker and guided with care—is now side-lined, overwhelmed, and unheard. It is time to restore purpose. Education must once again be about nurturing minds, not merely producing marks. Until then, we are failing the very children we claim to serve. Schools and universities should be temples of learning, not factories that prepare individuals solely to become job seekers.

Inside the Mind of a Pressured Child

Children today are not merely carrying schoolbags; they are silently bearing the heavy, invisible burdens of parental hopes, societal expectations, and peer pressures. Their laughter, once spontaneous and bright, has been quietly replaced by anxiety. Their natural curiosity is often overshadowed by exhaustion. The gentle voice within each child is drowned out by the relentless noise of coaching classes and career plans they never chose for themselves.

Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam once said, “Learning needs freedom to think and imagine.” Yet, for many children today, that freedom feels stifled, suffocated by a system that leaves little room to breathe. The word “suffocate” painfully captures the inner turmoil of countless students—overwhelmed by expectations, weighed down by constant comparisons, and robbed of the simple, human right to just be.

This is why the ideas of choice and voice are nothing short of revolutionary. When children are given the freedom to select subjects and paths that truly speak to their passions and strengths, learning transforms—from a source of pressure into a journey of purpose. They flourish when they feel safe to share their dreams, worries, and ideas without fear or judgment. For education to fulfil its deepest promise, it must shift—from enforcing conformity to nurturing curiosity, from rigid rules to meaningful relevance.

The late Professor Yash Pal, one of India’s most esteemed scientists and a champion of educational reform, once asked a poignant question: why must children carry such heavy loads—both in their bags and in their hearts? It’s a question we must ask ourselves today. Children deserve more than grades; they deserve meaning. And that meaning blossoms when they feel truly seen, genuinely heard, and free to question the world and themselves.

Parents: The Hidden Iceberg

In addressing the growing mental health crisis among students, we often look only at the tip of the iceberg—the child in distress. But beneath the surface lies a larger, ignored reality: the role of parents. Without parental awareness and empathy, student counselling is like trying to fix a leaking boat while ignoring the storm around it.

In a society where prestige is often linked to engineering or medicine, many children are silently coerced into careers that have little to do with their interests or strengths. Unfulfilled parental dreams are projected onto children, and love becomes conditional on report cards. The result? A child whose choices are dismissed and whose voice is never heard.

This is why we need a paradigm shift. Parents must be counselled not as perpetrators, but as partners. They must understand that true success lies not in forcing children into predefined moulds but in nurturing their individuality. Choice and voice must be valued at home, not just in progressive classrooms. When a child says, “I want to be an artist,” “I love history,” or “I am struggling,” those words must be received with openness, not fear or judgment.

A Compass for Course Correction: The Promise of NEP 2020

In an education ecosystem long preoccupied with metrics, rankings, and cutthroat competition, the National Education Policy (NEP) 2020 arrives as a much-needed recalibration—a visionary blueprint to reimagine learning with purpose, relevance, and joy. It is not merely a reform; it is an educational renaissance.

NEP 2020 dares to disrupt outdated paradigms. It envisions a learner-centric model where students are valued not for the marks they score, but for the potential they carry. It dissolves rigid subject silos and instead offers interdisciplinary thinking, where knowledge flows fluidly across domains. Classrooms, under this vision, are no longer sites of passive absorption but vibrant hubs of inquiry, collaboration, and creativity.

With its emphasis on critical thinking, experiential pedagogy, multilingual fluency, foundational literacy, digital literacy, and skill-based learning, NEP 2020 aligns education with the demands of a rapidly evolving world. It champions the idea that learning should be heuristic, flexible, inclusive, and grounded in real-life application.

Yet vision must translate into action. Without robust teacher training, agile curriculum design, systemic accountability, and equitable access, this bold policy risks becoming another aspirational document lost in implementation. The success of NEP 2020 lies not in its articulation but in its activation through empowered educators, engaged communities, and empathetic governance.

From Child to Grandeur: The Shift in Focus

After years spent walking the corridors of learning, one question keeps echoing within me: Where did the child go? Somewhere between institutional grandeur and digital showmanship, we’ve allowed the child, the learner, the dreamer—to disappear into the background. Once the nucleus of every decision, today’s child is often eclipsed by rankings, infrastructure, and curated spectacles built for likes, not learning. Yet no percentage captures a child’s compassion. No certificate replaces a teacher’s empathy. And no infrastructure, however grand, can substitute the gentle presence of an educator who sees the learner, not just the learner’s score.

It is also time we acknowledge an often-ignored crisis—the diminishing reverence for teachers. Once regarded as torchbearers of truth and wisdom, today many struggle for recognition and retention. A gifted teacher’s absence is not just a staffing gap—it’s a fracture in the soul of a school. Policies and buildings don’t ignite minds. People do. We must nurture and honour those who carry the light.

What we need is not more polish, but more presence. If we—as parents, educators, and society—choose to pause, to truly see the child beyond marks and medals, we can rewrite the purpose of education. Let it be a space where wonder is welcomed, dreams are heard, and purpose is born. Let us search for the institutions known for their intellectual standards having excellent teachers and not only as the ones which enable learners only to get a placement with fatty salary package.

If I am asked to share my vision of education, it would resonate with the enduring wisdom of John Dewey and Maria Montessori.

“Give the pupils something to do, not something to learn; and the doing is of such a nature as to demand thinking. Learning naturally results.” — John Dewey

This insight is eternal. Real education comes from application, from interaction, from lived experience—not from blackboards.

“The goal of early childhood education should be to activate the child’s natural desire to learn.” — Maria Montessori

But when education becomes an imposition rather than an invitation, this natural desire fades.

Today, we stand at a crossroads between spectacle and substance, between rigidity and relevance. It’s time we balance between grandeur to Gurukul—not by replicating the past, but by reclaiming its values: simplicity, integrity, exploration, and connection.

Let us raise not just toppers, but thinkers. Let us measure not just performance, but presence. Let schools be not academic mills but fields of becoming. Let education be less about racing to the top and more about journeying within.

To conclude I would like quote J. Krishnamuti- “Can there be scholastic education, but also an understanding of the whole inward nature of man? Both at the same time, together, so that there is no division between the study of various subjects and psychologically moving, unfolding, finding out, enquiring, doubting, questioning.” Learning flows in two directions—outward into the world, and inward into the self. One shapes knowledge, the other builds wisdom. When these paths walk in harmony, we don’t just educate children—we awaken them.

"Those who travel outward seek completeness in things; those who gaze inward find sufficiency in themselves."
Let us honour both journeys. After all, education at its best is not a ladder to climb, but a landscape to explore—with open minds, open hearts, and open hands.