Rural Women, Sporting Excellence, and the Political Economy of Sports Administration in Haryana

-Ramphal Kataria

Producing Champions without Policy: Haryana’s Women Athletes and Institutional Failure

Abstract

India’s sporting outcomes continue to reveal a structural paradox: exceptional individual performances coexist with systemic administrative failure. Haryana, a state with limited urbanisation and entrenched patriarchal norms, has emerged as the most prolific producer of elite women athletes in contemporary India. This article argues that the success of Haryana’s women athletes is not the result of coherent sports governance, but rather a consequence of familial investment, informal community institutions, and individual resilience compensating for state neglect. Through an examination of wrestling, boxing, hockey, shooting, and emerging disciplines, the article critically analyses the political economy of sports administration in India, foregrounding issues of gender, class, governance failure, and institutional violence. It contends that without structural reform—particularly at the grassroots—the promise of sport as a vehicle for gender emancipation and social mobility will remain narrowly accessible and deeply unequal.

Introduction

India’s international sporting performance remains modest relative to its population size and demographic youthfulness. While episodic success is often celebrated, it rarely translates into institutional learning or policy reform. This failure is most visible in women’s sports, where athletes from rural and working-class backgrounds continue to shoulder disproportionate personal, social, and financial risks in pursuit of excellence.

Haryana offers a revealing counterpoint to dominant assumptions about gender and sport. Over the past two decades, the state has produced an extraordinary concentration of elite women athletes—Olympians, world champions, and Asian Games medallists—across disciplines traditionally perceived as masculine. Wrestling, boxing, hockey, shooting, weightlifting, and badminton have all witnessed sustained contributions from women raised in villages, often with minimal institutional backing.

This article situates Haryana’s sporting success within a broader critique of India’s sports administration. It argues that the visibility of Haryana’s women athletes masks deeper structural failures: politicised federations, absence of grassroots nurseries, weak safeguarding mechanisms, and the relegation of athlete welfare to post-achievement recognition. The persistence of these failures raises fundamental questions about governance, gender justice, and the developmental role of the state.

Early Women Achievers and the Limits of Institutional Support

Women’s sporting achievements in India historically preceded institutional readiness. Athletes such as PT Usha, Anju Bobby George, and Karnam Malleswari emerged during periods when women’s sport received negligible public investment. Malleswari’s bronze medal at the 2000 Sydney Olympics marked a historic milestone as India’s first Olympic medal won by a woman, yet it did not result in systematic expansion of women’s weightlifting infrastructure or athlete pipelines.¹

Similarly, Santosh Yadav’s twin ascents of Mount Everest (1992, 1993) challenged prevailing gender norms but remained symbolic achievements rather than catalysts for policy reform. These early successes followed a familiar trajectory: individual exceptionalism followed by ceremonial recognition, without sustained institutionalisation.

Haryana’s later emergence must be understood against this backdrop. The state did not pioneer women’s sports policy; rather, it benefited from a confluence of socio-cultural shifts, agrarian restructuring, and the growing legitimacy of sport as a pathway to employment and social mobility.

Wrestling and the Informal Akhara Economy

Women’s wrestling in Haryana developed through a dense network of informal akharas embedded in rural life. These spaces—often family-run and community-supported—substituted for absent state infrastructure. The rise of the Phogat sisters from Balali village in Charkhi Dadri district exemplifies this process. Geeta Phogat’s gold medal at the 2010 Commonwealth Games marked a symbolic rupture, followed by sustained international success from Babita and Vinesh Phogat.

Sakshi Malik’s bronze medal at the Rio Olympics in 2016 further consolidated Haryana’s centrality to women’s wrestling. However, these achievements emerged despite persistent precarity. Training often involved outdated facilities, limited nutritional support, and uncertain educational continuity. Families bore the costs of coaching, travel, and injury management, effectively acting as risk absorbers in a system devoid of social security for athletes.²

The akhara system demonstrates both resilience and vulnerability: while it enables talent production, it lacks regulatory oversight, safeguarding protocols, and long-term sustainability.

Boxing: Bhiwani and the Gendered Costs of Excellence

Bhiwani’s reputation as India’s boxing hub has been extensively documented, yet the experiences of women boxers reveal persistent structural inequities. Internationally successful athletes such as Jaismine Lamboria, Nupur Sheoran, Minakshi Hooda, Sakshi Dhanda, Parveen Hooda, Kavita Chahal, Saweety Boora, Nitu Ghanghas, and Preeti Dahiya have repeatedly emerged from modest backgrounds.

Despite this depth of talent, women boxers continue to face limited access to sports science support, professional contracts, and post-career planning. The burden of sustaining athletic careers often falls on families already constrained by agrarian distress and informal labour markets.³ The state’s intervention remains largely episodic, triggered by medals rather than sustained developmental planning.

Hockey and the Shahabad Exception

Shahabad in Kurukshetra district represents one of the most significant yet under-institutionalised centres of women’s hockey in India. Players such as Rani Rampal, Savita Punia, and Mamta Kharab emerged from local academies sustained by community initiative rather than comprehensive state planning.

Rani Rampal’s trajectory—from severe childhood poverty to captaining the Indian women’s hockey team—has been widely celebrated. Yet her story also underscores systemic neglect: nutritional deprivation, lack of stable housing during early training years, and delayed institutional recognition.⁴ Shahabad’s success remains fragile, dependent on individual mentors rather than guaranteed public funding.

Shooting, Weightlifting, and the Expansion of Sporting Frontiers

The rise of Manu Bhaker marks a significant moment in Indian women’s sport. Her multiple medals at the Paris 2024 Olympics signalled both technical excellence and psychological resilience. Shooting, however, exposes acute class barriers. Equipment costs, range access, and specialised coaching remain prohibitive, rendering public investment indispensable.

Similarly, emerging women weightlifters from Haryana—such as Jyoti Yadav, Rashmi Kamboj, and Usha—illustrate the state’s expanding talent base. Yet injury management, rehabilitation, and career security remain poorly addressed, increasing the likelihood of early dropout.⁵

Governance Failure and the Political Economy of Sports Bodies

India’s sports federations remain structurally vulnerable to politicisation. Leadership positions are frequently occupied by career politicians or senior bureaucrats with limited professional engagement with sport. This concentration of power undermines transparency, accountability, and athlete-centric governance.⁶

Selection processes are often mediated by informal networks, reinforcing class and gender hierarchies. For rural women athletes, access to facilities and competitive exposure remains contingent on patronage rather than institutional entitlement.

Gender, Power, and Institutional Violence

The crisis surrounding the Wrestling Federation of India (WFI) exposed the gendered vulnerabilities embedded within sports governance. Allegations of sexual harassment against former WFI chief Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh, and the prolonged protests by elite women wrestlers in 2023, highlighted systemic failures in safeguarding, grievance redressal, and institutional accountability.⁷

The episode underscored how concentration of power within federations creates environments where abuse can persist with impunity. The absence of independent oversight mechanisms disproportionately affects women athletes, particularly those from non-elite backgrounds with limited social capital.

Structural Attrition and the Limits of Participation

Despite demonstrated talent, many girls exit sports prematurely due to intersecting constraints: economic instability, educational discontinuity, social pressure to conform to gender norms, and fear of institutional harassment. The lack of health insurance, injury compensation, and post-career employment pathways further increases risk.

Sport thus becomes a high-stakes gamble rather than a structured developmental pathway. For many families, continued participation is economically unsustainable without assured returns.⁸

Conclusion: Institutionalising Possibility

Haryana’s women athletes reveal a fundamental contradiction in India’s sports ecosystem. The state’s hinterland continues to produce world-class talent, yet governance structures remain ill-equipped to nurture, protect, and sustain it. The burden of excellence is displaced onto families and individuals, while institutional responsibility begins only after international success.

Transforming this landscape requires a shift from celebratory exceptionalism to systemic investment: village-level nurseries, educational integration, income security, independent safeguarding bodies, and professionalised federation governance. Without such reform, sport will remain an uneven avenue of emancipation—accessible to a few, foreclosed to many.

References

1. Majumdar, B. & Mehta, N. (2010): Olympics and Indian Women, Routledge.

2. Ghosh, S. (2018): “Gender, Akharas and Rural Sport,” EPW, 53(21).

3. Ministry of Youth Affairs & Sports (2022): National Sports Development Code.

4. Hockey India (2021): Women’s Hockey Pathways Report.

5. Sports Authority of India (2023): Injury and Rehabilitation in Elite Sport.

6. Sengupta, S. (2019): “Politicisation of Sports Federations in India,” EPW, 54(7).

7. Delhi Police Chargesheet, State vs. Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh (2024).

8. NITI Aayog (2021): Women in Sports: Participation and Retention.

 

 

Revenge, History and the Perilous Remaking of India

Power, Memory and the Language of Revenge

-Ramphal Kataria

When the State Speaks Revenge: History, Security and the Unmaking of India’s Composite Republic

When a National Security Advisor urges the youth of a nation to "avenge history," the statement cannot be treated as a rhetorical lapse. Ajit Doval’s address at the Viksit Bharat Young Leaders Dialogue (10 January 2026) marks a significant moment in India’s contemporary political discourse: the open normalisation of revenge as a legitimate force in nation-building. Even as he qualified that revenge is “not a good word,” he immediately rehabilitated it as a productive and mobilising sentiment.

Such language is not innocuous. When deployed by a functionary occupying the apex of the national security architecture, it signals a deliberate ideological shift—one that seeks to reframe history not as a field of inquiry but as a reservoir of grievance. Memory, in this formulation, is not meant to enlighten; it is meant to mobilise.

This essay argues that the contemporary invocation of historical revenge represents a dangerous convergence of selective historiography, majoritarian politics, and bureaucratic power. It threatens India’s composite social fabric, distorts its past, and weakens—rather than strengthens—its national security.

The Political Use of History

Modern political projects frequently mine history for legitimacy, but the current moment is distinguished by the reduction of a complex millennium into a singular narrative of Hindu victimhood and Muslim aggression. The repeated references to "subjugation" and "attacks" implicitly point to medieval India, with Somnath Temple functioning as a recurring symbol.

Professional historiography, however, offers no support to this civilisational binary. As Romila Thapar has consistently argued, pre-modern Indian polities cannot be understood through the lens of modern religious identities [1]. States were organised around power, territory, revenue extraction, and military capacity—not around the religious homogenisation of subjects.

Richard M. Eaton’s seminal work on temple desecration demonstrates that such acts were politically contingent and economically motivated, directed at sites of wealth and sovereignty rather than faith per se [2]. Temples functioned as treasuries, landholders, and symbols of rival authority. Their destruction was a strategy of conquest, not theological annihilation.

The oft-cited case of Mohammad Ghazni illustrates this point clearly. Ghazni did not attack Somnath because it was Hindu, but because it was exceptionally wealthy. If iconoclasm had been his objective, the subcontinent offered countless targets. Moreover, Ghazni’s campaigns were enabled by Indian collaborators, including Hindu rulers and generals—among them Tilak, a Hindu general in Ghazni’s army, a fact rarely acknowledged in communal retellings.

Conversely, temple destruction was not confined to Muslim rulers. Kalhana’s Rajatarangini records that the Kashmiri Hindu king Harsha (Harsh Dev) created a state department specifically to loot temples and melt idols for revenue during fiscal crises [3]. To read these actions as religious zealotry is to misunderstand the political economy of pre-modern states.

Rulers, Not Religions

Indian history decisively undermines the notion of rule by religion. Muslim dynasties depended heavily on Hindu generals, administrators, and financiers. Akbar’s empire rested on figures such as Raja Man Singh and Raja Todar Mal. Hemu rose to become chief general and de facto ruler of Delhi under the Sur regime. Irfan Habib has shown that Mughal governance was structurally inclusive, drawing elites across religious lines into the mansabdari system [4].

The traffic of power ran both ways. Hindu rulers routinely employed Muslim officers for their expertise in cavalry, artillery, and naval warfare. Shivaji Maharaj’s forces included Muslim commanders such as Siddi Ibrahim, Darya Sarang, Daulat Khan, and Ibrahim Khan Gardi. Vijayanagara kings recruited Turkish archers and artillery specialists and even constructed mosques for Muslim soldiers in their service [5].

Marriage alliances further complicate communal historiography. Mughal emperors—Akbar, Jahangir, and Shah Jahan—married Rajput princesses as part of political alliances. These were not symbolic gestures of tolerance but pragmatic strategies of statecraft. Such alliances make little sense within a framework that imagines perpetual religious hostility.

Aurangzeb, routinely portrayed as a religious fanatic, issued farmans granting land and revenue to several Hindu temples, including those at Varanasi, Umanand (Guwahati), and Chitrakoot. As Satish Chandra notes, Aurangzeb’s policies were shaped more by political exigencies than by a uniform religious agenda [6]. Acknowledging this does not sanitise his reign, but it does dismantle caricature.

Colonial Historiography and Communal Frames

The communal reading of Indian history owes much to colonial scholarship. After the 1857 uprising—where Hindus and Muslims fought together under Bahadur Shah Zafar—the British administration recognised that unity posed the greatest threat to imperial rule. History writing was reorganised to emphasise Hindu–Muslim antagonism, categorising eras as "Hindu" or "Muslim" rule. British domination, notably, was never described as "Christian rule."

This historiographical move reduced rulers to their religious identities and erased centuries of shared governance. As Bipan Chandra observed, communal history transforms political conflicts into civilisational ones, converting material struggles for power into moral narratives of eternal hatred [7].

Independent India never fully dismantled this framework. Instead, it is now being actively revived for political mobilisation.

Somnath and the Manufacture of Grievance

The renewed political focus on Somnath—one thousand years after Ghazni’s raid—reveals less about medieval history than about contemporary politics. The temple was rebuilt in 1951 with state support in independent India. To frame its present-day celebration as an act of historical revenge raises an unavoidable question: revenge against whom?

Mahmud of Ghazni is long dead. His empire has vanished. Translating medieval violence into modern grievance inevitably redirects hostility toward present-day Muslim citizens, who bear no historical responsibility for events a millennium old. This is not remembrance; it is political provocation.

Bureaucracy, Ideology and Security

The current moment is particularly troubling because ideological mobilisation is increasingly articulated through the language of national security. Ajit Doval’s long association with the Vivekananda International Foundation, and the proximity of similar organisations to the state apparatus, reflect a blurring of lines between governance and ideology.

Security discourse traditionally seeks stability, cohesion, and risk mitigation. The rhetoric of revenge does the opposite. It deepens internal fractures, legitimises suspicion, and diverts attention from institutional accountability—particularly in the aftermath of major security failures such as Pathankot, Uri, Pulwama, Pahalgam and subsequent attacks.

Internal polarisation is not a sign of strength; it is a strategic vulnerability.

Vivekananda and the Question of Dignity

The irony of contemporary Hindutva discourse is its selective invocation of Hindu thinkers. Swami Vivekananda repeatedly warned that conversions among Dalits and oppressed communities were driven not by theology but by humiliation and social exclusion. People, he argued, sought dignity where Hindu society denied it.

This diagnosis remains profoundly relevant. A civilisation unwilling to confront caste oppression but eager to avenge imagined historical wrongs is avoiding reform in favour of resentment.

Composite Culture Under Strain

India’s composite culture survived conquest, empire, colonialism, and Partition. It is now under strain not from external invasion but from internal radicalisation. Since the 1990s, and with greater intensity after 2014, political mobilisation has increasingly relied on religious polarisation.

Every symbolic gesture, legislative act, or rhetorical flourish appears calibrated to remind minorities of their conditional belonging and majorities of their supposed historical victimhood. This is not nation-building; it is the manufacture of permanent anxiety.

Conclusion: History Without Revenge

History does not demand vengeance; it demands understanding. A confident nation interrogates its past to learn, not to inflame. When those entrusted with national security normalise revenge, they undermine the very foundations of social cohesion and democratic citizenship.

India’s greatness has never rested on religious uniformity or historical retribution. It has rested on its ability to absorb difference, negotiate power, and sustain pluralism.

To abandon that inheritance in favour of revenge is not strength. It is surrender.

References

[1] Romila Thapar, Cultural Pasts: Essays in Early Indian History, Oxford University Press.

[2] Richard M. Eaton, Temple Desecration and Muslim States in Medieval India, Hope India.

[3] Kalhana, Rajatarangini.

[4] Irfan Habib, The Agrarian System of Mughal India, Oxford University Press.

[5] Burton Stein, Vijayanagara, Cambridge University Press.

[6] Satish Chandra, Medieval India: From Sultanat to the Mughals, Har-Anand.

[7] Bipan Chandra, Communalism in Modern India, Vikas Publishing.

 

Alakhpura, Haryana and the Political Economy of Women’s Sport in India

-Ramphal Kataria

Why Sporting Excellence in India Remains Accidental: Lessons from Haryana’s Women Athletes

Abstract

The recent selection of seven young women footballers from Alakhpura village in Haryana’s Bhiwani district for Indian national camps offers an important empirical window into the structural realities of sports administration in India. This article situates the Alakhpura case within the longer history of women’s sports in Haryana and India, arguing that athletic excellence has consistently emerged from social resilience, family support and local mentorship rather than from a coherent state-led sports policy. Drawing on examples from football, wrestling, boxing, shooting and hockey, the article critically examines institutional neglect, politicisation of sports bodies, gendered vulnerabilities, and the absence of sustainable athlete-support systems. It argues that unless the state shifts from post-facto reward mechanisms to early-stage public investment and athlete-centred governance, India’s sporting success will remain accidental rather than systemic.

Introduction

In January 2026, India will participate in the Asian Women’s Football Championship in Saudi Arabia. As preparations began, a remarkable fact drew national attention: seven girls from Alakhpura, a small agrarian village in Bhiwani district of Haryana, were selected for national training camps across senior, Under-20 and Under-17 categories. In a country of over 1.4 billion people, such a concentration of national-level footballers from a single rural settlement is statistically rare and sociologically significant.

This article argues that the Alakhpura story is not merely inspirational; it is diagnostic. It reveals both the extraordinary depth of sporting talent in Haryana’s hinterland and the enduring failure of Indian sports administration to nurture that talent through systematic, equitable and gender-sensitive institutional support.

Alakhpura: Social History and Sporting Emergence

Alakhpura has historically occupied a modest but notable place in Haryana’s social imagination. It is the birthplace of Seth Chhaju Ram (1861–1943), a pre-Independence philanthropist known for his contributions to education and social reform, and is linked genealogically to Bollywood actor Mallika Sherawat. Yet, its contemporary prominence arises not from inherited social capital but from women’s football.

The seven footballers selected by the All India Football Federation include Sanju Yadav (senior national team), five Under-20 players currently training in Bengaluru, and one Under-17 player attending a national camp in Andhra Pradesh. Their emergence is the result of over a decade of sustained grassroots effort led by local coaches, parents and the wider village community.

Community, Gender and the Making of Athletes

The Alakhpura case underscores the centrality of non-state actors in the production of sporting excellence in India. Under the guidance of coach Sonika Bijarania and her assistant, football has become an everyday practice for nearly 150–200 girls aged between six and twenty years. Most players belong to families of marginal farmers or landless agricultural workers.

Significantly, the village has undergone a profound gendered transformation. Participation of girls in football—once socially frowned upon—has gained legitimacy through collective success. Sporting attire and public visibility, often sites of moral anxiety in rural north India, have ceased to be contentious. This cultural shift, however, has not been accompanied by commensurate material support from the state.

Haryana’s Sporting Pattern: Excellence from Below

Alakhpura fits a broader pattern in Haryana, where women athletes have consistently emerged from rural and semi-rural backgrounds with minimal institutional backing. The Phogat sisters from Balali, Sakshi Malik from Rohtak, Manu Bhaker from Jhajjar, and generations of women hockey players from Shahabad illustrate this trajectory. In each case, families and private mentors absorbed financial and emotional risks during the formative years, while state recognition followed only after international success.

This inverted support structure—reward after achievement rather than investment before—defines much of India’s sports governance model.

Women Athletes from Haryana: A Brief Overview

Haryana has produced an exceptional cohort of international women athletes across disciplines:

Wrestling: Vinesh Phogat, Sakshi Malik, Geeta Phogat, Babita Phogat

Boxing: Jaismine Lamboria, Nupur Sheoran, Minakshi Hooda, Sakshi Dhanda, Kavita Chahal, Nitu Ghanghas

Hockey: Rani Rampal, Savita Punia, Mamta Kharab

Shooting: Manu Bhaker, Gauri Sheoran

Badminton and Athletics: Saina Nehwal, Neha Snehwal

Cricket: Shafali Verma

These achievements coexist with persistent precarity, reflecting the absence of long-term athlete welfare mechanisms.

Structural Failures in Sports Administration

Despite repeated international successes, sports administration in India remains marked by four systemic deficiencies.

First, early-stage talent identification and training infrastructure is grossly inadequate. Unlike countries with strong sporting outcomes, India lacks a nationwide network of publicly funded sports nurseries.

Second, sports federations are heavily politicised. Leadership positions are often occupied by politicians and senior bureaucrats with limited sporting expertise, enabling nepotism and weakening athlete representation.

Third, women athletes face heightened vulnerability to exploitation. The allegations against former Wrestling Federation of India chief Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh, and the prolonged protests by elite wrestlers in 2023, exposed deep institutional failures.

Fourth, financial insecurity remains endemic. In Alakhpura, while the state-supported football nursery provides approximately ₹2,000 per month, actual monthly requirements per player range between ₹25,000 and ₹30,000, covering nutrition, education, medical care and family support.

Why Girls Exit Sport Early

The attrition of women athletes is shaped by intersecting constraints: economic pressures on households, early marriage expectations, absence of injury insurance, lack of educational flexibility, and uncertainty about post-sport livelihoods. Without integrated scholarship, health and career-transition frameworks, sporting participation remains fragile.

State Intervention: Symbolic Recognition versus Substantive Support

The establishment of a women’s football nursery in Alakhpura represents a positive but limited intervention. Facilities without sustained athlete-centred funding risk becoming symbolic gestures rather than transformative institutions. Comparable structural support is urgently required across boxing, wrestling, shooting, hockey and cricket, particularly for women athletes from economically vulnerable backgrounds.

Conclusion: From Exceptional Stories to Institutional Change

The success of Alakhpura’s footballers challenges the dominant narrative that India lacks sporting talent. Instead, it reveals a governance deficit. Haryana’s hinterland continues to generate world-class women athletes despite systemic neglect.

For India to move beyond episodic sporting triumphs, the state must shift from celebratory reward frameworks to early, sustained and gender-sensitive public investment. The Alakhpura experience is not an anomaly; it is a policy lesson. Whether it is treated as such will determine whether future generations of women athletes emerge as exceptions—or as the norm.

References

1. All India Football Federation (AIFF) (2024): Strategic Plan for Women’s Football 2023–2027, AIFF, New Delhi.

2. Ministry of Youth Affairs and Sports (2021): National Sports Policy, Government of India, New Delhi.

3. Sports Authority of India (2022): Annual Report 2021–22, SAI, New Delhi.

4. Supreme Court of India (2023): In Re: Allegations of Sexual Harassment in Wrestling Federation of India, Interim Orders, New Delhi.

5. Press Information Bureau (2023): ‘Government Response to Protests by Women Wrestlers’, PIB Release, Ministry of Youth Affairs and Sports, New Delhi.

6. National Crime Records Bureau (2022): Crime in India, NCRB, Ministry of Home Affairs, New Delhi.

7. Thangaraj, Stanley (2016): ‘Gender, Caste and the Politics of Sports in India’, Economic & Political Weekly, Vol 51, No 17.

8. Majumdar, Boria (2013): The Politics of Sports in India, Routledge, New Delhi.

9. EPW Editorial (2023): ‘Sports Governance and the Crisis of Accountability’, Economic & Political Weekly, Vol 58, No 22.

10. International Olympic Committee (2022): Gender Equality Review Project, IOC, Lausanne.

11. Government of Haryana (2023): Haryana Sports Policy, Department of Sports and Youth Affairs, Chandigarh.

12. UNICEF (2021): Gender, Sport and Development, UNICEF Innocenti Research Brief, Florence.

13. OECD (2020): Gender Equality and Sport Policy, OECD Publishing, Paris.

14. UK Department for Digital, Culture, Media & Sport (2019): Sporting Future: A New Strategy for an Active Nation, London.

15. Australian Sports Commission (2020): Women in Sport Strategy, Canberra.

 

 

 

 

From Feudal Privilege to Mass Exclusion:Education, Power, and the Long Crisis of Access in India (1850–2026)

-Ramphal Kataria

Learning as Privilege: Why Higher Education Remains Out of Reach for India’s Youth

Abstract

The history of formal education in India is marked by a persistent contradiction: while educational institutions have expanded dramatically in number, access to education—particularly higher education—has remained structurally unequal. From its colonial origins as a mechanism of governance and elite reproduction to its post-independence role in nation-building and, later, its neoliberal transformation into a market commodity, education in India has rarely functioned as a universal social right. This article traces the evolution of higher education from the mid-nineteenth century to 2026, situating institutional growth within demographic change, caste and gender hierarchies, and shifting state priorities. Drawing on census data, All India Survey on Higher Education (AISHE) reports, and policy documents, it demonstrates that despite the proliferation of universities and colleges—particularly after liberalisation and again after 2014—only about one-fourth of eligible youth are currently enrolled in higher education. Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, women, and rural populations remain disproportionately excluded, especially from technical and professional institutions. The paper argues that this exclusion is not merely a failure of implementation but the outcome of long-standing policy choices: chronic underfunding, delayed recognition of education as a right, reliance on private provisioning, and the weakening of public institutions. The failure to universalise education, it concludes, has deep consequences for democracy, citizenship, and social stability in contemporary India.

I. Introduction: Education as Power, Not as a Right

Education in India has never been a neutral or purely benevolent project. From the colonial period to the present, decisions about who is educated, at what level, and at whose expense have reflected prevailing power structures. While the language of policy has increasingly invoked inclusion, equity, and access, the lived reality of Indian education remains one of rationed opportunity.

India today possesses one of the largest higher education systems in the world, with over 52,000 colleges and more than 1,300 universities. Yet fewer than 30% of young people aged 18–23 are enrolled in higher education. This paradox—massive institutional expansion alongside persistent exclusion—forms the central concern of this article.

The analysis proceeds historically, tracing how education evolved from a feudal and colonial privilege into a partially massified but deeply unequal system. It asks a set of interrelated questions:
Why did education remain the preserve of a narrow elite for so long? Why did independence not lead to universalisation? Why has the post-1991 expansion failed to deliver equitable access? And why, even after education was declared a fundamental right, does higher education remain inaccessible to the majority of India’s youth?

II. Education Before the Modern State: Feudal Knowledge and Social Closure

Prior to colonial intervention, education in India existed within diverse institutional forms—pathshalas, gurukuls, madrasas, and maktabs. These systems were not insignificant; historical studies suggest that basic literacy was more widespread than colonial narratives later admitted. However, access to advanced learning was tightly regulated by caste, gender, and religion.

Knowledge functioned as social capital, closely guarded by dominant groups. Women, Dalits, Adivasis, and lower occupational castes were systematically excluded. Education did not serve as a vehicle of mobility but as a means of preserving hierarchy.

This social closure shaped the colonial encounter. When the British introduced formal education, they did so not to democratise knowledge but to restructure elite formation.

III. Colonial Education and the Birth of the University System (1850–1900)

The colonial state’s education policy was guided by administrative convenience rather than social transformation. Macaulay’s Minute on Education (1835) made explicit the aim of creating a small English-educated class to assist colonial governance.

The establishment of universities in Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras in 1857 marked the formal beginning of modern higher education. These universities were affiliating and examining bodies, not teaching universities. Their primary role was credentialing, not knowledge production.

By 1900, India had only about five universities and roughly 150 colleges.

Table 1: Higher Education Expansion, 1857–1900

Indicator	1857	1900
Universities	3	5
Colleges	~20	~150
Literacy (15+)	<2%	~5%
Population	~200 million	~240 million

Higher education served less than one-tenth of one percent of the population. Its beneficiaries were overwhelmingly urban, male, and upper caste.

IV. Slow Growth and Persistent Exclusion: 1901–1947

In the early twentieth century, nationalist pressures forced the colonial state to modestly expand education. Universities were established in Lahore, Allahabad, and elsewhere, and colleges increased in number.

By 1910, there were approximately 170–180 colleges affiliated with five universities. By independence in 1947, the number of colleges had risen to 636 and universities to 19.

Table 2: Higher Education under Late Colonial Rule

Indicator	1901	1947
Universities	5	19
Colleges	~150	636
Literacy	~5%	~12%
GER(Gross Enrolment Ratio,)	<1%	~1.5%

Despite this growth, higher education remained socially exclusive. SC/ST participation was negligible, women’s enrolment minimal, and rural access extremely limited.

Colonial India thus bequeathed to the postcolonial state a structurally elitist education system.

V. Independence and the Developmentalist Turn (1947–1977)

The post-independence Indian state recognised education as central to nation-building. The establishment of IITs, AIIMS, and central universities reflected a belief in scientific and technical modernity.

However, the expansion of higher education occurred without universalisation of school education. This created a narrow funnel: only those who survived multiple layers of social and economic filtering could aspire to higher education.

Table 3: Expansion after Independence

Indicator	1947	1977
Universities	19	~100
Colleges	636	~4,000
GER (Gross Enrolment Ratio,)	~1.5%	~6%
Female GER(Gross Enrolment Ratio,)	<2%	~4%

Higher education expanded in absolute numbers but remained inaccessible to the majority. Elite institutions absorbed disproportionate resources, while mass education lagged behind.

VI. Social Justice without Capacity: 1978–1990

The late 1970s and 1980s witnessed important political shifts, including the articulation of social justice demands. Reservation policies expanded access for SCs and STs in principle.

Yet this period was marked by stagnant public investment. Colleges and universities multiplied without adequate faculty, infrastructure, or funding.

Table 4: Pre-Liberalisation Phase

Indicator	1978	1990
Universities	~100	~185
Colleges	~4,000	~7,500
GER(Gross Enrolment Ratio,)	~6%	~8%

Access expanded slowly, but quality eroded, and regional disparities widened.

VII. Liberalisation and the Marketisation of Education (1991–2013)

The economic reforms of the early 1990s fundamentally altered the education sector. The state retreated from direct provisioning, encouraging private participation, particularly in professional and technical education.

Private colleges proliferated rapidly, especially in engineering, management, and medicine.

Table 5: Liberalisation Era Growth

Indicator	1991	2013
Universities	~185	~700
Colleges	~7,500	~38,000
GER(Gross Enrolment Ratio,)	~8%	~23%
Private Share (Colleges)	~30%	~65%

While enrolment increased, access became increasingly mediated by ability to pay. Education was transformed into a commodity, financed through family savings and debt.

VIII. Expansion without Universal Access: 2014–2026

Since 2014, India has witnessed another phase of rapid institutional growth. By 2025–26, the country had over 52,000 colleges and 1,338 universities.

Table 6: Higher Education Expansion, 2014–2026

Indicator	2014–15	2025–26
Colleges	38,498	52,081
Universities	~760	1,338
Enrollment	~3.3 crore	~4.9 crore
GER(Gross Enrolment Ratio,)	~23%	~28.4%

Despite this scale, nearly 70–75 million eligible youth remain outside higher education.

IX. Who Is Left Out? Caste, Gender, and Region

Access to higher education remains deeply unequal.

Table 7: GER(Gross Enrolment Ratio,) by Social Group (2025–26)

Group	GER
Overall	~28.4%
SC	~25%
ST	~18%
Women (Overall)	~29%
ST Women	<15%

SC/ST students remain underrepresented in elite technical and medical institutions. Regional disparities are stark, with states like Bihar and Jharkhand lagging far behind urbanised regions.

X. Public vs Private Institutions: Capacity and Responsibility

Although private institutions dominate numerically, public institutions educate a disproportionate share of students.

Table 8: Institutional Share and Enrollment

Category	Govt/Gov-Aided	Private
Colleges	~21.4%	~78.6%
Enrollment Share	~34.5%	~66.3%

This underscores the continued relevance of public education in ensuring affordability and scale.

XI. Policy Failures and Structural Constraints

Three interlinked failures define India’s education crisis:

1. Delayed Recognition of Education as a Right
Education became a fundamental right only in 2002, and higher education remains outside enforceable guarantees.

2. Chronic Underfunding
Public expenditure on education remains around 3% of GDP—far below the 6% recommended by the Kothari Commission and later policy frameworks.

3. Unregulated Market Expansion
Private dominance without robust regulation has led to uneven quality, high costs, and exclusion.

XII.Consequences for Democracy and Citizenship

The failure to universalise education has profound consequences:

Youth unemployment and underemployment

Informalisation of labour

Social alienation and political polarisation

Brain drain

Weak democratic participation

Education is central not only to economic development but to the creation of informed, responsible citizens.

Conclusion

India’s education system has grown enormously in scale but remains deeply unequal in access. This is not a technical failure but a political one. Without a decisive commitment to universal, publicly funded education—especially at the higher level—India risks squandering its demographic advantage and undermining its democratic future.

References

1. All India Survey on Higher Education (AISHE), various years. Ministry of Education, Government of India.

2. Census of India, 1911; 1951.

3. Government of India (1966): Report of the Education Commission (Kothari Commission).

4. Government of India (2020): National Education Policy 2020.

5. Tilak, J B G (1993): “Financing Higher Education in India,” Economic & Political Weekly.

6. Béteille, André (2009): Universities at the Crossroads.

7. Deshpande, Satish (2013): Contemporary India.

8. Nambissan, Geetha B (2010): “Privatisation of Education in India,” Economic & Political Weekly.

9. World Bank (2023): Education and Skills Development in India.