In Massive Rent-Seeking in India’s Government Job Examination System I argued that the high value of government jobs has distorted India’s entire labor market and educational system.
India’s most educated young people—precisely those it needs in the workforce—are devoting years of their life cramming for government exams instead of working productively. These exams cultivate no real-world skills; they are pure sorting mechanisms, not tools of human capital development. But beyond the staggering economic waste, there is a deeper, more corrosive human cost. As Rajagopalan and I have argued, India suffers from premature imitation: In this case, India is producing Western-educated youth without the economic structure to employ them. In one survey, 88% of grade 12 students preferred a government job to a private sector job. But these jobs do not and cannot exist. The result is disillusioned cohorts trained to expect a middle-class, white-collar lifestyle, convinced that only a government job can deliver it. India is thus creating large numbers of educated young people who are inevitably disillusioned–that is not a sustainable equilibrium.
The Economist has an excellent piece on the lives of the students including Kumar who is studying in “Musallahpur Haat, a suburb of Patna where dozens of coaching centers were concentrated, and the rent was cheap.”
…About half a million students are currently preparing for government exams in Musallahpur….For most government departments the initial tests are similar, and have little direct bearing on the job in question. Would-be ticket inspectors and train-drivers must answer multiple-choice questions on current affairs, logic, maths and science. They might be asked who invented JavaScript, or which element is most abundant in the Earth’s crust, or the smallest whole number for a if a456 is divisible by 11. Students have no idea when their preparations might be put to use; exams are not held on a fixed schedule.
…Kumar made his way to the bare, windowless room his friend had arranged for him to rent and started working. Every few days, he’d check the Ministry of Railways website to see if a date had been set for the exams. The days turned into weeks, then months. When the covid pandemic erupted he adjusted his expectations – obviously there would be delays. The syllabus felt infinite and he kept studying, shuttling between libraries, revision tutorials and mock test sessions. Before he knew it he’d been in Musallahpur nearly six years.
As his 30s approached, Kumar began to worry about running out of time. There is an upper age limit for the railway exams – for the ones Kumar was doing it was set at 30. As a lower-caste applicant he was allowed to extend this deadline by three years. His parents urged him to start thinking about alternative careers, but he convinced them to be patient. His father, who was struggling to keep up the allowance, reluctantly sold some of the family’s land to help support him, and Kumar studied harder and longer.
In my post, I emphasized the above-average wages and privileges, which is true enough, but even by Indian standards many of the jobs aren’t great and The Economist puts more focus on respectability and prestige (the sad premature imitation I discussed):
Indian society accords public-sector jobs a special respect. Grooms who have them are able to ask for higher dowries from their brides’ families. “If you are at a wedding and say you have a government job, people will look at you differently,” said Abhishek Singh, an exam tutor in Musallahpur.
Railway jobs in particular still have a vestigial glow of prestige.
…[Kumar] had been preparing for junior engineer and assistant train-driver jobs, but decided to apply for the lowest rung of positions too, the Group D roles, to increase his chance of getting something. An undergraduate degree and six years studying in Patna could lead to him becoming a track-maintenance worker. “I never imagined it would come to this,” he said sadly.
And yet he wouldn’t trade it. A short drive from his room in Musallahpur, a glitzy mall has just been built. There are jobs going there which pay close to what he might earn in a Group D role. But Kumar baulked at the suggestion he might become a barista. “I am educated with a technical degree,” he said. “My family hasn’t sacrificed so much for me to work in a coffee shop. People only work there if they have no other choice.” No one from his parents’ generation would respect a barista. But they admired, or at least understood, a job on the railways.
India’s government job system squanders talent, feeds on obsolete and socially-inefficient prestige hierarchies, and rewards years of sterile preparation with diminishing returns. It’s inefficient, of course, but behind the scenes it’s devastating to the young.
Hat tip: Samir Varma.
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