Beyond Marks and Ranks: Saving Our Children from Academic Violence

Board examinations are underway across the country, and other annual exams are about to begin. As every year, the examination season has become not merely a time of question papers and results, but a season of mental pressure, anxiety, and insecurity. The worry etched on students’ faces is not only about scoring well; it is about carrying the crushing weight of expectations. Tragically, this pressure often becomes so unbearable that it takes self-destructive or even violent forms. Data from the National Crime Records Bureau reveals a chilling reality: between 2013 and 2023, the rate of student suicides in India increased by nearly 65 percent. These are not just statistics; they are stories of shattered families and unfulfilled dreams. Academic pressure, parental expectations, social comparison, and financial stress are cited as major causes. Yet a recent incident in Lucknow has pushed this crisis into an even darker and more alarming direction.

The Lucknow tragedy is not merely about exam stress. It is a mirror reflecting growing emotional insensitivity, lack of dialogue within families, and neglect of mental health. According to police investigations, a pathology lab owner father persistently pressured his son to clear competitive medical entrance exams and become a doctor. On the day of the incident, an argument reportedly escalated, and the 21-year-old shot his father dead. In an attempt to conceal the crime, he dismembered the body, disposed of parts outside, hid some within the house, threatened his younger sister, and misled the police with fabricated stories of disappearance and suicide. This was not a momentary outburst. It was the eruption of long-suppressed frustration, resentment, and psychological turmoil. The disturbing question is: how does such hatred grow within a child toward a parent? Can the pressure “to become something” become so overwhelming that it tears apart the most sacred human relationships?

Every parent desires their child’s success—a prestigious career, social respect, and financial stability. But when aspiration turns into coercion, when guidance becomes control, motivation mutates into psychological harassment. Education, instead of becoming a means of life-building, becomes an instrument of destruction. Competitive examinations such as NEET and JEE symbolize hope for millions of Indian youths. Last year, over 2.3 million students registered for NEET, and more than 1.3 million applied for a session of JEE. Yet only a few thousand secure seats in top institutions. For the rest, disappointment, self-doubt, and the sting of social comparison often follow. When rank and marks become the sole measures of worth, failure can feel like the end of life itself.

The recurring reports of student suicides in Kota—often described as India’s coaching capital—underscore this grim reality. Thousands of students arrive there carrying dreams; for some, the weight of those dreams becomes heavier than life itself. This is not simply a matter of individual weakness. It reflects an education system where competition overshadows collaboration, and performance eclipses well-being. Another dimension of the Lucknow case is significant: the accused student had lost his mother. Though extended family members were present at home, was anyone truly attentive to his emotional state? Did anyone listen to his fears, his loneliness, his silent breakdown? Had there been open communication and serious attention to mental health—equal in importance to academic performance—perhaps this tragedy might have been prevented.

Today, the crisis is not limited to suicide. Children are also turning violent. This violence does not arise from outside; it germinates within—born of humiliation, suppressed anger, relentless comparison, and fear of failure. When a child begins to feel like a “project” or an “investment” to be molded into a predetermined profession, their individuality is crushed. Some implode silently. Others explode catastrophically. The fundamental purpose of education is to nurture life—to cultivate wisdom, sensitivity, resilience, and self-confidence. But when education is reduced to rankings and relentless competition, it breeds stress and aggression. We must accept that not every child can—or should—become a doctor or engineer. A society that fails to honor diverse talents will continue to manufacture despair.

Addressing this crisis requires reflection at three critical levels. First: The Family. Parents must understand the difference between expectation and pressure. Expectation inspires; pressure instills fear. Children need open dialogue, emotional security, and the freedom to explore their interests. Failure must be normalized as part of growth. The mindset must shift from “You must become a doctor” to “Whatever you choose to become, we stand with you.”

Second: Educational Institutions. Schools and coaching centers must not function as result-producing factories. They must become compassionate spaces. Regular counseling, stress-management workshops, and a culture that does not equate exams with life or death are essential. Teachers should be trained to identify signs of emotional distress and intervene with care. Third: Government and Society. Mental health services must be accessible and free from stigma. Examination reforms, the promotion of alternative career pathways, and greater emphasis on skill-based education are urgently needed. Media, too, must choose sensitive reporting over sensationalism. Most importantly, we must refuse to normalize such incidents. Every suicide and every violent outburst signal fractures in our social fabric. If dismissed as isolated “personal matters,” these fractures will widen.

The Lucknow tragedy is a wake-up call. It demonstrates how academic pressure, familial silence, and neglect of mental health can converge into horrifying consequences. The time has come for collective introspection. Let education become a celebration of growth, not a source of fear. Give children goals, but do not clip their wings. Show them dreams, but give them space to breathe. Until we broaden our definition of success—until we learn to value children as human beings rather than as report cards—the crisis will persist. Examination seasons will return every year. But if we can cultivate a compassionate society, perhaps for the next generation, this season will symbolize confidence and possibility rather than dread and despair. Education must not be violent. It must be humane.