India's Competitive Examination System: Corruption, Inefficiency, & the Struggle for Merit

 This year has been a year of revelations. The mighty BJP has proven to be fallible, Rohit Sharma's Indian cricket team stands seemingly invincible, and Lionel Messi has edged out Cristiano Ronaldo in the great football debate by winning the Copa. Yet, the most startling and grave revelation concerns the staggering corruption infiltrating India’s competitive examination system—spanning NEET, NET, and the mighty UPSC.

Being no stranger to competitive examinations more times than I'd like to admit, I am familiar with the long, stressful, expensive, and depressing process. Imagine waiting years for the exam, only to find that you have been allotted a test centre hundreds of kilometres away from home, a week before the examination. And even if you make the journey and appear for the paper, chances are, you might learn that the paper was leaked and the whole thing's been cancelled before you even make it back, flushing all the money, effort, and unrelenting anxiety, down the drain. The next day, you read it all in the newspaper for confirmation along with a re-examination assurance scheduled in the “tentative” future. Accountability? None.

*As per India Today's Data Analysis, since 2019, India has seen 65 exam paper leaks. Apart from the leak of the question paper for the National Eligibility cum Entrance Test (NEET)-UG 2024, four other pan-India level examinations were engulfed by paper leaks.

Governments assure fair competitive examinations. Fails. They assure employment. Fails. Yet millions of hard-earned taxpayers’ money is spent every year to conduct these examinations. From INR 150 to INR 2500 is charged from a candidate just to allow him to be part of the examination. In some cases, believe it or not, includes a GST.

*The application fees of the recent IBPS CRP of Clerks in Banks (For Vacancies of 2025-26 ) is Rs. 175/- (inclusive of GST) for SC/ST/PwBD/ESM/DESM candidates &  Rs. 850 /- (inclusive of GST) for all others.
RBI Grade B 2024 Application Fee is Rs. 850 + 18% GST is the application fee to be paid by candidates belonging to the General and OBC Categories. The same amount is reduced to Rs. 100 + 18% GST for candidates belonging to SC/ST/PWD Category.

Nevertheless, we pay.
Lakhs of potential candidates who mostly belong to middle and lower-middle-class families scrumming over a few hundred jobs, pay such amounts, can at least expect the government to conduct a fair examination.

These exposures have proved that these scams aren’t new & have certainly been going on for years rotting the whole system to the core with many undeservingly holding high-ranking positions, possessed only through crooked methods, not merit.

We live in a nation where corruption has crept into the selection process for the most prestigious and honourable positions—those responsible for making our country healthier and safer. If such is the reality in UPSC, NEET, & NTA examinations, imagine the extent of corruption at State-level recruitment and the number of employees and officers getting selected & appointed with fraudulent EWS, Caste & Disability Certificates.

*Currently, BPSC (Bihar Public Service Commission) is in the process of recruiting 2 lakh teachers per month.

Imagine, the amount of documentation the authorities must go through. Will it really be a clean process? Does govt. of Bihar have any mechanism to fish out the fake documents amidst lakhs of aspirants, that too within a month?

India's competitive examination system is mired in corruption, inefficiency, and systemic failures. Despite the promises of fairness and transparency, the reality for candidates is a gruelling and often futile journey, marked by financial burdens, mental stress, and a pervasive lack of accountability. The recurring incidents of paper leaks and fraudulent activities highlight the deep-rooted issues that undermine the integrity of citizens and taxpayers of this nation.

For most aspirants, especially from the Unreserved Category the dream of securing a prestigious position through these examinations becomes a nightmare, with the odds stacked against those who abide by the rules.

If such is the India of today, anarchy akin to Bangladesh might not be far off.

Memories

Your memories have existed with me for years,

Sometimes with laughter, sometimes with tears.

Sometimes with the morning sky, glimmering in blue,

Walking on the misty lanes, in the winter dew.

Sometimes with the carnival, amidst the neon lights,

Among the sleepy days, and the bustling city nights.

Your memories, like a malady, like a persistent pain,

Like a nail-embedded eye, or a bullet in the brain,

Like a corpse dead for days, rotten to the soul,

Like prisoners of Hades, serving in Hell Hole.

Your memories, like Cancer, are taking me apart,

Breaking my body, piercing my Heart,

I wish someday I don't remember you,

And I get to meet you again as if someone new.

The Wait

I am still waiting for,

The rain dripped evenings,
The collage of lights shining from the road,
I am still waiting to see you from a distance,
Walking towards me, in neon green coat.

I am still waiting for,
The weekend late nights,
Cuddling on the balcony, you by my side,
I am still waiting to watch the trees swirl,
As the moon behind the dark clouds hide.

I am still waiting for,
The touch of your lips,
As the touch of the morning dew,
I am still waiting to feel you again,
I am still waiting for you.

An Anomalous Experience

Every day, on my way to College, where I teach, I come across a tall, intimidating silhouette standing amongst the lush vegetation by the side of the road. I couldn’t see the face as the figure stood facing away towards the green vastness. Every day while returning from college, I gazed out my bus to catch a glimpse of that towering figure, thinking about getting down to explore that mysterious image. Maybe, the time wasn’t right, or it was something more to it.

I gradually became overwhelmed with inquisitiveness about that place, that figure amidst the lush; its oddity attracted me.  Luckily, soon I got an opportunity to explore the mysteries within the forest or what probably may turn out, a beautiful day gladly wasted.

I took a bus to reach Ratanpur, a scarcely populated area by NH 19 a few kilometres away from Kisanpur, a densely populated marketplace. Every day for the past 6 months, I've crossed this location on my way to college, but that was the first time I had ever got down. After crossing some shabby tea shops, I could see that bewildering figure at a distance. I walked the way on muddy, grassy terrain, and as I approached the graven image, I could see a couple of small huts where by the side stands a monumental, menacing idol, of Kaali. I was awestruck.

A 35 feet tall scripture of stone, the Goddess in her darkest of shades, undraped, standing with ten hands and ten heads, big red eyes, dishevelled hair and a bloodied mouth. The view was quite spectacular and intimidating.

This is what I used to see every day, on my way, wondering about what it might be.

“So, this is it then”, I said to myself, admiring the towering representation.

I was happy and kind of content with myself that I was able to satisfy my curiosity and make an adventure out of it without just lazing around the house the whole day. So, after being there for some time and a moment of prayer, I intended to head back to the road when suddenly I heard a voice. An old lady from the nearby huts was calling me to tell me something. As I walked towards her trying to make sense of why she was calling me, I heard another voice asking me to remove my shoes, which I obliged and walked towards the lady in the hut. “Come inside, don’t leave without visiting maa”, she said.

“But I already visited maa outside”, I replied pointing towards the statue.

“No, the real maa….inside”, she said with almost ecstatic undertones.

A bit hesitated but curious, I entered the hut; it was dark, almost cramped, but immaculate. The walls were white washed, with paintings of Gods and Goddesses in red all over the room.

“Go inside”, the old woman said with the same grin, pointing me towards a darker room on the left, a couple of steps below the one I was standing. I, trying to make sense of the situation, gradually walked towards the room, and as I stepped down, what I saw there was ethereal.  

I finally understood what she was trying to show me, the “real maa”. There, I was in a dark windowless room, lightened by a couple of earthen lamps, and standing in front of me was an idol of Kaali. It was no ordinary idol one sees in a temple. The arms, the torso, all the way to the legs of the idol were chained tightly against the walls. I had never seen an idol of Kaali in such an appearance. Her bright protruding eyes, the pitch dark complexion and a slightly forward bending posture, as if trying to break off the bondage, made it so alive, so transcendental. The aura there in that room was different, unique, and unworldly.

I was standing there, awestruck. There was something different about that place, that image, was frighteningly too real. You know when sages and priests talk about how a particular God or Goddess of one particular temple is “alive” as if present in flesh and blood. I understood what it meant at that very moment.

I gradually, getting a hold of myself started looking at the surroundings. There I saw several human and animal-like figurines of clay covered in bright red vermilion arranged by the side of the idol. It was fairly obvious, that those figurines were used in Occult practices of Tantra Sadhana.

After showing my respects to the mighty presence in the room, still trying to cope with what I saw, I returned to light outside the hut.

“You have come on a wrong day.....”, that old lady said, still carrying that grin. “You should come on a Saturday. A lot of people come on Saturdays”, she said.

“Why she’s in chains?”, I asked, after gaining some of my sense back.

“She has a tendency to leave her chamber and walk around at night. If she isn’t chained, she'll leave,” the old woman replied, with that same godforsaken grin as if she’s talking about her teenage rebel brat of a daughter and not some warrior goddess who carries a Scimitar and a severed head.

“Come during puja”, the woman said again as I was preparing to leave. I turned back to acknowledge her, then all of a sudden, I realised something. I went back to the hut, into the room and prayed again, this time not with fear but with faith.

The first time I was overwhelmed. I had never experienced such a sight before. I was afraid, unsure, and discontent. I couldn’t have left the place like that; it would have only weakened my faith, and that was no place for weak.

I left the place with experience, some wisdom and a lot of courage. I understood that the perception of a God is different for different people. It can’t be tied down into a single hue. Gods don’t reside in big temples and within gigantic statues; they reside in dark small rooms, where faith, love and belief bind them with those who believe they are real.

पहचान (My first poem in Hindi)

ये मन्दिर किसकी,
ये मस्जिद किसका,
पता लगाओ, कया इसका कया उसका।

ये जमीन किसका,
ये मिट्टी किसकी,
सायद ये जहिरिली हवा है जिसकी।

हवा मैं लिपटी ये भय किसका,
ये सिसकियां किसकी,
ये खून किसका,
पाठशालाओ मैं भूके बच्चे किसके,
सायद अखबारो मैं तस्वीर है जिसके।

ये देश किसका,
ये धरम किसका,
फैलाया हुआ ये भरम है किसका,
ये नफरत किसका,
ये क्रोध किसका,
सायद मेरा , सायद उसका।

ये मन्दिर किसकी ,
ये मस्जिद किसका,
पता लगाओ, कया इसका कया उसका।