Declining Enrolment & Its Toll On Kashmir's Future!

“Would you let the baby be? You are always after him with that toy slate. Let him play around with other toys,” Farwa's mother Shaheen would often chide her for snugging the child in her lap, trying to teach him the alphabet.

Hamza initially loved playing with the toy slate when it was freshly gifted to him by his Molvi chachu, scribbling random stuff, but once Farwa disciplined him to read and write on it, his interest in it took a back seat. Hamza now found solace in playing with his other toys, especially the plastic doctor set, that he had earned after much pleading from his father Javed, when he had accompanied him to attend the Friday Prayers in Hazratbal shrine, located in Srinagar city. He had even lost half the part of the plastic scissors while operating on a doll and Farwa had warned him that it could've been left out in the stomach of the patient and that he would continue to do such blunders if he did not learn to read and write with her.

Farwa didn't teach Hamza merely out of sisterly affection. Her insistence came from a place of fear, a fear of what the future held for her baby brother in a village where schools were shutting down one by one.

As a twelve year old, she had always dreamt of completing her education with flying colours and becoming a doctor. She had often looked up to Shahida Didi, the ASHA worker from the Anganwadi centre, located in a separate room, just next to their modest abode in the picturesque locale of Gurez, Bandipora. Shahida Didi had told her that she was a doctor, and would always carry a stethoscope with her, sometimes put around her neck, and sometimes stuck in the pocket of her white apron, which had turned grey by lack of washing. Farwa had pictured herself in the same manner, but had pledged not to let her white apron turn grey. Quite ahead of her age, sensitivity towards the importance of education had struck her when she was forced to bid adieu to her school a year ago.

The first to leave was Nazia, Farwa's childhood buddy and closest companion. Nazia's father, an unskilled labourer, had been unable to make the ends meet with his minimum wages. Overwhelmed by the mounting household expenses and to keep their heads above water, her father decided to pull her out of the school so that she could assist her mother in her tailoring assignments.

Shortly afterwards, Arshad stopped showing up to the class. His parents had migrated close to the city in search of better livelihood opportunities. Whether or not he continued with his pursuit of education there was still a mystery.

But the shocker came with the news of Zarka's departure. Her father, disillusioned with what he perceived as the school's failure to provide quality education, enrolled his brilliant daughter in a distant private school. While Zarka's family grappled with the management of its steep fees, she often lamented how deeply she missed her friends and the comforting familiarity of her old school.

One after the other, Farwa's classmates disappeared. The buzzy school corridor assumed an air of quietness with every passing week and gradually, the classrooms that would hitherto be filled with laughter and chatter turned silent.

Alack! The emptiness that had crept into the classrooms soon extended to the notice board:

“Due to declining enrollment numbers, we regret to inform you that the school will be closing its operations. In view of this, all the students are requested to bring their parents/guardians to the school office and collect their discharge certificates.”

The notice didn't just announce the closure of a building, it marked the end of Farwa's school journey and a permanent disconnect from the place that had once been her second home, where she had dreamt of becoming a doctor! But she wasn't just losing her school; she was losing the fragile thread of hope that she had been firmly holding onto since day one.

Although her father tried to enroll her in another school, the exigent circumstance of a 7 kilometer rugged distance that had to be traversed everyday was quite an obstacle in Farwa's path to education.

And now, sitting at home, Farwa often revisits her old books, worn thin by countless readings, the edges of the pages having turned dark. Yet, she spends hours poring over its contents and pouring all her hopes into Hamza.

But, Farwa's family is not alone. Across Kashmir, hundreds of government-run schools are closing their doors due to declining enrollment numbers, keeping education for communities like hers in abeyance.

Pertinently, over 4400 government schools have shut down in the region lately due to zero or extremely low student enrollment. According to the Union Ministry of Education, there are roughly 1.25 million children across India that are not registered in schools, but other estimates suggest that there might be as many as 30 million. Factors such as poverty, lack of primary schooling institutions, and poor infrastructure have been identified as the major causes.

In Kashmir, the challenges of remote areas like Gurez, where Farwa lives, are exacerbated by poor infrastructure. The Ministry of Education data reports over 40 percent of educational institutions as being devoid of toilets, whereas 30 percent as not having access to reliable drinking water and electricity. For female students, proper sanitation becomes pivotal for maintaining consistent attendance.

“Unfortunately, our government institutions lack the basic amenities and facilities. How can we then expect parents to send their wards to these schools? Education is as much about dignity as it is about learning,” explains Dr. Shafiq Ahmad, an academician from Srinagar.

During winter months, the deplorable infrastructure of government schools compels the children to sit on freezing floors with minimal matting and no heating arrangements. Scared of the idea of sitting in a freezing classroom, they opt for missing out on studies rather than bearing the brunt of harsh weather. Besides, the absence of proper playgrounds, libraries and laboratories, essential for the holistic development of children is yet another facet of the infrastructural deficiencies that the government schools exhibit.

“When parents see classrooms with broken windows and teachers who barely show up, they lose faith in government institutions!” Ahmad adds.

But not just the infrastructure, a glaring issue that often goes unnoticed in government schools is the dismal pupil-teacher ratio. In rural areas of Kashmir, a single teacher is responsible for teaching students from multiple classes, ranging from Class 1 to Class 5, in the same room.

The Right to Education (RTE) Act (2009), recommends a Pupil-Teacher Ratio (PTR) of 30:1 and 35:1 for the primary and the upper primary levels respectively. The average PTR in J&K is reported at 1:16, which is normally deemed to be within the national norms. However, some districts like Srinagar exhibit a PTR as low as 1:5, indicating an oversupply of teachers vis-à-vis the students while rural areas depict an inverted trend, leading to imbalanced educational opportunities and thereby impacting the quality of education.

In fact, a recent survey conducted by the Unified District Information System for Education Plus (UDISE+) reveals that more than 40 percent of schools in J&K have a pupil-teacher ratio above the prescribed norm of 30:1.

“I wish to give every child individual attention, because each one of them is different from the others. But with 60 students across different classes in one room, it becomes impossible,” laments Shameema Hassan, a teacher from Bandipora district.

However, the challenges go beyond these issues.

A volunteer and social activist belonging to CHINAR International, a non-governmental organization (NGO) based in Srinagar that focuses on education, child development and community empowerment, highlights an important fact.

“A significant percentage of teachers in rural Kashmir have not undergone specialized teacher training programs, such as the B.Ed. or D.Ed. courses, which are critical for understanding pedagogical approaches. The absence of such training not only affects their teaching methods but also their ability to engage with students effectively.”

A confirmation of this comes by the revelation of the UDISE+ data that affirms an approximation of 20 percent teachers in Jammu and Kashmir not meeting the qualification standards prescribed under the Right to Education (RTE) Act.

However, beyond qualifications, the pressing shortage and requirement of subject-specific teachers in government-run schools further aggravates the problem. Schools in rural and semi-urban areas across Kashmir often lack teachers for critical subjects like Science, Mathematics, and English. This forces them to rely on general-line teachers who are unable to offer in-depth subject expertise.

Zeenat, Farwa's older cousin, recalls her school as having struggled with this issue. For nearly a year, her school had operated without a Science teacher. When her classmates attempted experiments in the meagerly equipped Science lab, they had no one to guide them.

“We would just sit around, trying to figure out things ourselves,” she recalls.“It was more like a play session than learning.”

Data reveals that around 48 percent of government schools across J&K operate without specialized subject teachers. In high schools, where subject proficiency becomes essential, this deficit results in students performing poorly in board examinations.

Rashtriya Sarvekshan (National Achievement Survey) 2024 showed less than 40 percent of high school students from J&K demonstrating proficiency in Science and Mathematics – a direct consequence of the lack of specialized teaching staff.

“We desperately need trained subject teachers in government schools,” says Sheikh Abdul Majid, retired lecturer from District Institute of Education and Trainings (DIET), Srinagar.

“A general-line teacher cannot be expected to teach advanced concepts in physics or chemistry. The government needs to address this gap urgently if we want to see improvement in enrollment and outcomes.”

Another aspect of this shortage is the absence of language teachers, particularly for English. In a world increasingly dominated by English as the language of higher education and employment, children in government schools are left at a significant disadvantage.

Moreover, frequent absenteeism of teachers posted in remote areas of districts like Kulgam or Doda who commute from urban centers, often fail to show up consistently due to logistical challenges. When teachers are absent, children are left to fend for themselves, further diminishing their interest in attending school.

While Farwa dreams of going to school again, she is unaware of the systemic issues existing within the educational infrastructure of her homeland.

As of June 2024, Bandipora's educational sector was experiencing critical shortages across all levels. Key administrative positions, including the Chief Education Officer (CEO) and two Zonal Education Officer (ZEO) posts, remained vacant, leading to a lack of leadership and oversight.

However, this scenario is not restricted to Bandipora only. Many districts of Kashmir have been witnessing a lag of administration in the education sector which eventually tells upon the future of budding youth.

The aforementioned factors have on one hand hit the reputation of government-run schools badly, paving way to declining enrollment numbers. But on the other hand, they have as much added to the popularity of the private educational institutions.

Across India, there was a significant reduction in government schools between the years 2018 and 2020. As a policy of consolidating underperforming schools, over 51,000 government-run schools were shut down, largely due to low enrollment.

During the same period, private schools saw a surge in numbers, with an increase of 11,739 schools. This shift underscores growing parental preference for private institutions, often seen as providing better quality education despite high academic charges.

In Kashmir, this trend is quite pronounced in the urban areas. However, the privatization of educational institutions is constantly pushing the economically disadvantaged families into financial strain.

“I want the best for my daughter,” Farwa's father Javed speaks his heart out.“But at what cost? We shall have to cut back on essentials just to pay her fees.”

Patting the head of his beloved daughter, he continues,“We don't have the means to send our children to private schools. But does that mean they shouldn't have a future?”

The privatization of schools is seen to be creating an educational divide – a perpetual gap between the rich and the poor, where the poor are pushed to the brink of managing to afford private schooling as a result of the collapse of the government-run schools triggered by myriad reasons, including a starvation of resources.

The alarming trend of schools shutting down, supplemented by various factors, has left the rural communities struggling to access even the most basic education.

For kids like Hamza, the stakes are even higher. Without a functioning school nearby he is forced to rely on the makeshift lessons provided by Farwa.

“I want him to have all that I couldn't,” Farwa says, her voice tinged with melancholy.

In remote areas, the shutting down of schools not just represents the loss of education but the erosion of community spaces where children once gathered to dream of a better future.

But what is noteworthy is that these challenges in school education have created a cascading effect, with ripple impacts now being felt in higher education across Jammu and Kashmir.

As children drop out of schools or fail to develop foundational skills, fewer students are able to make the transition to colleges, leading to an alarming decline in college enrollment across disciplines.

The scale of this issue was underscored in early October, when Dr. Sheikh Ajaz Bashir, Director Colleges for the Union Territory of J&K's Higher Education Department, sent a letter to the principals of government degree colleges. The letter highlighted the“major decline in student enrollment across disciplines” over the past several years and called for urgent strategizing to address the crisis.

This decline in college enrollment is a symptom of systemic weaknesses that emerge right at the school level.

Dr. Shafiq Ahmad talks about poor infrastructure, lack of access to quality education, and high dropout rates at the school level as impediments in the path of students pursuing higher education, the consequences of which he refers to as 'far-reaching'.

“A generation of young people without higher education opportunities not only limits their personal growth but also hampers the overall socio-economic development of the region,”he asserts.

“Higher education institutions need to re-imagine themselves as engines of opportunity.”

Regarding the latest figures of 119 government schools operating with zero enrollment but significant teaching staff, he comments,

“If we fail to address this crisis, we're not just losing students – we're losing the future.”

While the discourse goes on, the slate in Hamza's hands ceases to be a mere toy. It transforms into a ray of hope and assumes the aura of a canvas on which Farwa paints a future – one that, against all odds, still feels possible. As Hamza scribbles one alphabet after the other, her heart swells with inexplicable joy! In that moment, all her anxieties fade away. What remains is the belief that someday, things will change! Someday, the slate will be filled not just with alphabets, but with possibilities.

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