Directorate of School Education Kashmir recently issued a directive mandating strict student attendance in schools. On the face of it, the directive seems to be, a corrective step. Regular classroom presence is indispensable for academic discipline, structured learning and institutional credibility. But if attendance enforcement is treated as the solution rather than the beginning of reform, the deeper malaise of “dummy admissions” will persist—perhaps even worsen. Dummy admissions did not emerge in a vacuum. They are a symptom of a parallel education economy that has gradually overtaken the formal schooling system. Over the years, private coaching centres have expanded aggressively, conducting day-time sessions that directly overlap with school hours. Students preparing for competitive examinations find themselves in a bind: either attend school and compromise coaching schedules, or enrol officially in school while spending their academic day elsewhere. The result is predictable—schools reduced to examination registration centres, while real teaching shifts outside the institutional framework. It is an open secret that certain private higher secondary institutions capitalised on this arrangement. By offering admissions without meaningful classroom engagement, and by allegedly functioning without adequate faculty for these “enrolled” students, education was reduced to a transactional arrangement. Hefty admission fees became a revenue stream; attendance became a formality. The academic ecosystem suffered in silence. In this context, simply tightening attendance norms—particularly in government higher secondary schools—risks unintended consequences. If day-time coaching continues unchecked, students may migrate further towards private institutions that quietly accommodate dummy admissions. Regulation confined to government schools could inadvertently strengthen the very parallel system it seeks to dismantle. The root cause lies in the scheduling and regulation of coaching centres. If authorities are serious about restoring the primacy of formal schooling, coaching classes must be restricted to pre-school or post-school hours, with clearly defined buffer periods. This is neither radical nor punitive—it is an administrative alignment aimed at preventing conflict between two systems that should be complementary, not competitive. Additionally, district-level monitoring committees could bring enforcement credibility. Surprise inspections, transparent reporting mechanisms and strict penalties for violations would send a clear signal that compliance is not optional. Government lecturers, who often complete their formal teaching hours early, can be meaningfully engaged in oversight and advisory roles. Their academic grounding would lend both authority and insight to enforcement efforts. The larger concern is philosophical. Education cannot thrive in a dual structure where one institution certifies and another teaches. Schools are not mere examination conduits; they are spaces for holistic development—critical thinking, peer interaction, mentorship and co-curricular growth. Coaching centres, however effective for exam preparation, cannot substitute that ecosystem. There is also a moral dimension. When families invest heavily in coaching while treating school enrolment as a bureaucratic necessity, the social contract of education erodes. The message to students becomes transactional: marks over learning, credentials over comprehension. The government’s attendance order is welcome, but it must not operate in isolation. Without synchronised regulation of coaching timings and accountability for institutions enabling dummy admissions, enforcement may become selective and counterproductive. If reform is to be meaningful, it must address the ecosystem as a whole. Attendance cannot be mandated in principle while being undermined in practice. To restore faith in formal schooling, policymakers must tackle the structural incentives that made dummy admissions profitable and prevalent. The credibility of our education system depends not merely on who signs the attendance register—but on where learning truly happens.
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