[ Mamum Megu ]

A policy can change overnight. An education system cannot.

The National Education Policy (NEP) 2020 promised to transform Indian higher education into a more flexible, multidisciplinary and student-centred system. The four-year undergraduate programme was presented as an opportunity to move beyond rote learning and create space for deeper study, research, internships, multidisciplinary learning and academic exploration.

It is a compelling vision.

But in Arunachal Pradesh, a difficult question now needs to be asked: What happens when an ambitious policy arrives before the institutions are ready for it?

For students and teachers entering the fourth year of the undergraduate programme, the answer is increasingly visible in overcrowded classrooms, stretched faculty, multiple courses being handled by individual teachers, and institutions struggling to provide the academic support that a four-year degree demands.

The issue is not whether Arunachal needs the NEP.It does. The issue is whether the state has given its colleges the people, infrastructure and resources necessary to make the policy work.

And if it has not, then the question is no longer about policy implementation. It is about whether we are quietly lowering the quality of education while claiming to reform it.

A state that cannot afford to get education wrong

Arunachal has always had a difficult educational geography. Scattered settlements, mountainous terrain and connectivity challenges make the delivery of education considerably more difficult than in densely populated parts of the country.

The state has also come a long way. Yet the historical gap remains significant. According to the 2011 census, Arunachal's literacy rate was 65.38 percent, compared with 72.98 percent nationally.

At the level of higher education, access has improved considerably. The state's higher-education gross enrolment ratio stood at 36.5 percent in 2021-22, higher than the national figure of 28.4 percent.

This should be celebrated. But it should also make us ask a more difficult question: What kind of education are these students receiving after they enter the system?

Because getting a student into college is only half the job.

The other half is giving that student an education worth having.

The fourth year exposes an old problem

The arrival of the fourth year under the NEP has brought renewed attention to a problem that existed long before the policy: faculty shortage.

In several of the state's larger colleges, popular departments such as political science, history, education, English, etc, face considerable pressure because of high student enrolment and limited faculty strength.

A teacher may be expected to handle six or seven papers while simultaneously managing examinations, internal assessments, administrative responsibilities, mentoring and other academic duties.

This is not simply a question of workload. It is a question of educational quality. A teacher who is responsible for hundreds of students cannot realistically provide the same degree of academic attention, discussion and mentoring that a smaller class allows.

And this is where the contradiction becomes stark.The NEP asks the teacher to do more. The student needs more. But the system has not necessarily provided more teachers.

When the ratio becomes the story

The UGC has prescribed student-teacher norms for higher education, with the applicable ratio depending on the discipline and programme (UGC norms/recommendations use 1:30 as the teacher-student benchmark for undergraduate courses).

Yet concerns raised within some large colleges suggest that actual department level student-teacher ratios can be dramatically higher than what would permit meaningful classroom interaction.

In some large departments, the ratio is reportedly around 1:200, while in certain minor or elective papers it may reach 1:600.

These institution-specific figures require proper verification through official data. But even if the actual numbers are somewhat lower/higher, the underlying concern remains the same: How can higher education be genuinely student-centred when one teacher is responsible for several hundred students? At such numbers, individual mentoring becomes difficult. Tutorials become difficult. Feedback becomes difficult. Research supervision becomes difficult.

And the fourth year makes that problem even more serious.

A student undertaking research cannot simply be treated as another name on an attendance register.

A dissertation cannot be supervised at scale in the same way a lecture can be delivered.

Research requires conversation. It requires correction. It requires repeated interaction between a student and a teacher. In other words, it requires something increasingly scarce in our colleges:time.

The model college paradox

The government's attempt to reduce pressure on larger colleges through model colleges and other institutions is understandable.

Decentralising higher education is necessary. But decentralisation cannot mean simply moving students away from established colleges.

Students choose larger colleges for reasons. They expect better academic exposure, stronger peer networks, wider subject choices, extracurricular opportunities, better connectivity and greater interaction with the outside world.

If a model college is to attract students, it must offer an academic environment that can compete with those expectations.

A building alone cannot do that. A new college with inadequate faculty will not solve the faculty shortage. A college with low enrolment but limited academic opportunities will not automatically become attractive simply because it exists closer to a student's home.

This is why the government must resist the temptation to measure educational expansion by the number of institutions alone.

The question should not be: How many colleges do we have? The question should be: How many colleges can provide quality education?

Behind every statistic is a student

There is a tendency in education policy to speak in terms of enrolment, infrastructure, sanctioned posts, GER and examination results.

All of these matter.

But behind every number is a young person. A student from a remote village who travels for hours, or even days, to reach a college is not merely pursuing a degree. They are investing their family's hopes in education.

For many families, higher education represents social mobility. It represents the possibility of a better job, greater independence and a different future. When such a student enters an overcrowded classroom and finds that a teacher is responsible for hundreds of students, the loss is not merely institutional. It is personal.

The student may still graduate. They may still receive a degree. But did they receive the education that the degree was supposed to represent? That is the question we must have the courage to ask.

From policy to practice

The government now needs to bridge the widening gap between policy ambition and institutional reality. Regular and timely recruitment of permanent faculty must be the first priority. Faculty shortages cannot be addressed indefinitely through guest or contractual appointments, particularly when the four-year undergraduate programme demands greater academic engagement, mentoring and research supervision.

Recruitment should focus especially on departments with high enrolment and persistent vacancies, including political science, history, English, education, and other popular disciplines.

At the same time, the solution should not be limited to creating new institutions or shifting students away from established colleges. The colleges where students are already seeking admission must also be strengthened. Larger institutions need additional classrooms, libraries, research facilities, digital resources and, most importantly, adequate faculty to cope with their existing enrolment.

The state's model colleges, meanwhile, must be made academically attractive, rather than relying solely on physical infrastructure. Students will choose institutions closer to home only when they are confident that those institutions can provide comparable academic exposure, faculty support, extracurricular opportunities and avenues for research and employment.

There is also a need for greater transparency in higher education planning. Institution-wise data on student enrolment, sanctioned and filled faculty posts, vacancies and teaching workload should be regularly assessed and made available. Such data would allow the government to identify departments under severe pressure and intervene before the problem becomes unmanageable.

Most importantly, the fourth year must be given genuine academic substance. If students are expected to undertake advanced coursework, research, internships or dissertations, colleges must have the faculty, resources and academic environment necessary to support them. Otherwise, the fourth year risks becoming simply another year added to the degree rather than an opportunity to deepen learning.

This is not an argument against NEP

This distinction matters. The answer is not to abandon the NEP. Nor is it to blame teachers or students for the difficulties of implementation.

Teachers are working within the system they have been given. Students are trying to make the best of the opportunities available to them. The responsibility lies with the system itself.

If the state wants multidisciplinary education, it needs multidisciplinary academic capacity. If it wants research-oriented undergraduate education, it needs researchers and supervisors. If it wants student-centred learning, it needs enough teachers to know and engage with those students.

The NEP cannot be implemented through policy circulars alone.

It has to be implemented in classrooms. And classrooms need teachers.

The questions the government must answer

Arunachal stands at an important moment in its educational journey. The state has expanded access to higher education. It has established new institutions. It has adopted the national policy framework. Students are enrolling in increasing numbers.

But expansion without quality can create a dangerous illusion of progress.

A college may have a building. A department may have a timetable.

A student may have an enrolment number. A teacher may have an appointment. And yet the system can still fail to provide meaningful education.

That is why the discussion around NEP in Arunachal must now move beyond implementation reports and official statistics.

We need to ask what is actually happening inside the classroom.

Can one teacher effectively teach six or seven papers? Can a teacher meaningfully mentor hundreds of students? Can a fourth-year student undertake serious research without adequate supervision? Can a model college attract students without adequate faculty and academic infrastructure? And most importantly: Are we expanding higher education or are we merely expanding access to degrees?

These are uncomfortable questions.

But they are necessary ones. Arunachal's young people deserve an education system that does not ask them to travel great distances only to discover that the institution they reach is itself struggling for teachers and resources.

The teachers of Arunachal deserve a system that does not depend upon their personal sacrifice to keep an overstretched system functioning.

And the NEP deserves something too: a fair chance to succeed. That chance will not come from another circular. It will come from classrooms with enough teachers, institutions with adequate infrastructure, and a government willing to invest before the crisis becomes irreversible.

Because ultimately, the success of NEP in Arunachal will not be measured by how beautifully the policy reads on papers. It will be measured by what happens when a student raises their hand in a classroom.

Is there a teacher with enough time to answer?

That, more than any policy document, is where the reality of quality education begins. (The contributor is a PhD scholar at Rajiv Gandhi University, Rono Hills.)