In West Bengal today, the gates of higher education do not just creak under the weight of aspirants; they collapse under the force of corruption. What should have been the most sacred sanctum of intellectual pursuit and academic freedom has now turned into a bastion of nepotism, silent deals, underhanded exchanges, and institutional apathy. The tragedy lies not in the absence of talent, but in the systematic burial of merit.
Let me take you into the heart of this decay. Picture this: a young
scholar, freshly postgraduate, brimming with dreams of research and teaching,
aspires to become an assistant professor in a college. The first step is the
UGC-NET or SET examination, a national or state-level eligibility test. This is
a rigorous hurdle, but many clear it. That is supposed to be the key to the
door. But in Bengal, the door remains shut unless you carry a different key the
currency of connection. The next step is the College Service Commission
(CSC) interview, where, in an ideal world, selection should be merit-based. But
in the world that actually exists, this is where the game begins—where
whispered deals, “gifts,” and political endorsements become more powerful than
publications, research credentials, or exam scores. It is well known though
rarely spoken aloud that unless you have a personal connection with someone on
the interview panel, or someone politically powerful to make a call on your
behalf, your chances are slim. I've interviewed nearly twenty aspirants over
the past two years anonymous voices, terrified of consequences—and the story
remains chillingly the same. One might hope these are isolated incidents. But
when the pattern repeats, and when honesty is punished while corruption is
rewarded, it becomes a structure not a coincidence.
Let me tell you about Raveena (name changed), a Bengali scholar who cleared both SET and NET with distinction. She was even appointed as an SACT teacher part of the temporary teaching cadre in state colleges. But when she pursued her PhD dreams, the nightmare began. Every university department she approached demanded money. Not administrative fees. Bribes. Rs. 3 lakhs or more just to be considered for admission under a guide. And if that wasn’t heartbreaking enough, the story took a darker turn. She confided, hesitantly, that she was sexually harassed during this process. But she never reported it. She was married, she said. Society, she knew, would shame her first. Justice was never on offer. Silence, she believed, was her only refuge.
And so, she stays quiet, like hundreds of others while the undeserving,
sometimes even underqualified, walk into assistant professorships. Not because
they cleared the interview with brilliance, but because they greased the
right palms, gifted the right favors, or carried the right party flags. This
is not just Raveena’s story. This is the story of a generation. A generation
that cleared the qualifying exams but found themselves locked out of
opportunities by invisible walls of corruption. A generation watching their
futures being sold like products in an underground market.
Ask anyone inside the academic corridors, and you will find these stories
are not rare. They are routine. The higher education system of West Bengal,
once home to intellectuals, reformers, and Nobel laureates, is now disfigured
by a rot so deep that merit itself has become a joke. What was once a
proud culture of learning is now a marketplace of manipulation.
The emotional toll of this reality is vast. Scholars fall into
depression. Talented researchers abandon their dreams. Honest teachers remain
temporary for a decade, while the connected ones are made permanent within
months. And those who dare to protest, risk being blacklisted—not just by
institutions, but by the entire academic ecosystem. The question that haunts us
is simple: Who is accountable? When will the education ministry
intervene? When will universities be audited not just for financial
irregularities but for academic fairness? How long will this system continue to
rob a state of its finest minds?
As a society, we often cry about “brain drain” -of scholars leaving
Bengal for better opportunities in other states or abroad. But what we do not
say out loud is that we push them away. We suffocate them with our
corruption, crush their aspirations with our silence, and then act surprised
when they abandon the dream.
It is time we listen not just hear the silent scream of thousands like
Raveena.
Let us not forget: when education is corrupted, the cost is not just
personal it is civilizational.