Bright Minds, Quiet Assumptions

Bright Minds, Quiet Assumptions

A long time ago, while reading Paulo Freire, I came across an idea that quietly stayed with me. He wrote that it is not important to know the name of a country’s capital; what matters more is how life unfolds in the capital compared to other parts of the country—the opportunities it offers, the challenges it presents. In other words, the lived reality matters more than memorisation.

This idea echoed back to me recently when I was part of the document verification process for candidates admitted to the two-year Diploma in Education programme. I came across some remarkable academic records—students who had scored a perfect 100% in their CBSE board exams. For a moment, I was genuinely surprised. Out of curiosity, I asked one of them, “What do you want to do in the future?” My tone, I realised later, carried an implicit expectation—that she would name something other than teaching. She replied, calmly and clearly, “I want to prepare for the civil services.”

Just a day before this interaction, I had been writing about Bourdieu’s concept of doxa—how certain beliefs and values become so deeply internalised that they escape our questioning. And the very next day, I was confronted with it.

The moment I asked her that question, it hit me—doxa was speaking through me. In my question lay an assumption: why would a top-performing student choose to become a teacher? If even I, someone committed to the field of education, carried this bias subconsciously, it speaks volumes about the dominant narrative—that teaching is a fallback option, not a first choice. That only those who don’t “make it” elsewhere—engineering, medicine, law, civil services—end up here.

Educational research has often pointed this out. And I see it playing out around me, too. But I also see it as a byproduct of India’s population dividend. With nearly 200 million youth between the ages of 18–30—more than the population of many countries—every sector receives a share of graduates. Around 30% of this group is college-educated, though the quality of that education is another discussion altogether.

There’s another pattern: the graduates from prestigious institutions are largely concentrated in big cities. Capitals like Delhi benefit from this uneven distribution. And this, perhaps, is what Freire was getting at—not just knowing the capital’s name, but understanding how it shapes lives. So yes, education may still attract bright students due to this demographic excess, but the dominant belief remains unchanged: talented youth don’t choose education. This narrative quietly erodes the confidence of even those who do.

And the big question is: how do we change this story?

Even the National Education Policy (2020) acknowledges this issue. It calls for attracting “the best and the brightest” into teaching. There could be many policy-level steps, but one lies within the community itself—those of us who form it. We need to show, through our work and presence, that capable, talented individuals do choose education. And that teaching can be rewarding—both in intrinsic meaning and in material value.

Can we imagine a future where choosing teaching is seen as a mark of brilliance, not compromise?