India’s National Education Policy 2020 contains a quiet paradox. It aspires to a Gross Enrolment Ratio of 50% by 2035, champions internationalisation as a route to quality, and opens the door – for the first time – to foreign universities establishing campuses on Indian soil. But the Policy offers no theory of how this internationalisation is to be operationalised, financed, or governed at the level of daily institutional practice. It names the destination without mapping the road.
That gap – between regulatory ambition and operational capacity – is precisely where private capital moves fastest. Eruditus has positioned itself as the infrastructure layer of India’s transnational education moment: not a university, not a regulator, but the entity that makes it possible for Aberdeen, York, Victoria, Bristol, Liverpool, UNSW, and Illinois Tech to plant flags in Mumbai, Bengaluru, and Gurugram without building an India strategy entirely from scratch. It absorbs campus logistics, student recruitment, FEMA-compliant JV structuring, SEZ navigation, and marketing – the operational burden that most mid-tier global universities cannot or will not bear alone.
The question this essay poses is not whether Eruditus intended to commercialise India’s higher education system. Intent is the wrong frame. The stronger – and more defensible – argument is this: the structural incentives of Eruditus’s business model systematically produce commercialisation effects regardless of intent. A private intermediary that captures platform rents, shields itself from regulatory liability, and becomes indispensable to both foreign universities and Indian regulators is not a Trojan horse by design. It is something more structurally significant: a commercialisation engine that operates through the logic of efficiency.
The efficiency case, stated fairly
Any honest reckoning with Eruditus must begin by taking the efficiency argument seriously, because it is not trivially wrong.
India’s domestic public university system, however admirable in scale, cannot alone deliver the GER-50 target by 2035. The IITs and IIMs remain globally competitive but narrowly elite. The broader public university ecosystem is under-resourced, over-enrolled, and unevenly distributed geographically. Against this backdrop, the entry of internationally ranked foreign HEIs – even mid-tier ones – genuinely expands the diversity and reach of higher education supply.
But most of these universities would not enter India without an operational partner. Building a campus from scratch in a new regulatory environment – navigating UGC’s Foreign Higher Educational Institution regulations, FEMA compliance, local recruitment pipelines, and India’s accreditation landscape – is a formidable undertaking for a university whose core competence is academic, not logistical. Eruditus lowers these barriers. It brings IIT/IIM credibility, India market intelligence, and a decade of executive-education relationships. On this reading, it is a legitimate market-maker: it creates TNE supply that would not otherwise exist.
The risk/revenue structure of these partnerships reflects this division of labour. Foreign HEIs bear academic risk – curricula, quality assurance, UGC compliance, degree reputation – and the majority of tuition revenue. Eruditus bears operational and marketing risk, capturing an estimated revenue share of 20–40%, based on precedents in its executive-education model, alongside operational fees. This is not an unusual arrangement in the broader landscape of pathway partnerships and third-party campus operators. Navitas, Shorelight, and Oxford International run structurally similar models in other markets.
The efficiency case deserves its due: Eruditus may be expanding the frontier of accessible international education in India in ways that benefit students who would otherwise spend considerably more on outbound mobility.
The regulatory architecture and its gaps
The efficiency case, however, is told entirely within a regulatory vacuum. The moment you examine what UGC’s FHEI regulations actually require – and what the Eruditus model actually delivers – the interstitial space in which the company operates becomes visible, and it is that space which constitutes the structural problem.
UGC’s 2023 FHEI regulations were designed around a single-entity accountability model. The foreign HEI applies for a Letter of Intent, receives approval, sets up campus operations, awards degrees under its own seal, and bears full compliance responsibility. Academic control must remain with the foreign parent; curricula and assessments must mirror the home campus; online delivery is capped at 10%. The regulatory logic is clear: UGC holds one accountable party – the foreign HEI – for everything that happens on the campus.
The Eruditus model introduces a second structural actor that the regulations do not cleanly govern. Eruditus is not the degree-awarding institution – it is neither an IBC operator subject to FHEI rules nor a passive technology vendor subject to standard IT regulations. It occupies an unregulated interstitial category: a private operational backbone that controls campus setup, student recruitment, marketing pipelines, and industry linkages, while the foreign HEI retains nominal academic and regulatory accountability. The JV or service-contract structure through which this relationship is formalised is FEMA-compliant, but FEMA governs foreign investment flows, not educational quality or governance accountability.
The analytical crux is this: UGC holds the foreign HEI liable for what happens in the classroom. It has no direct regulatory relationship with Eruditus. But Eruditus controls the conditions under which the classroom is filled – who is recruited, how they are marketed to, what the campus’s financial viability looks like, and how the partnership’s commercial logic shapes institutional decisions. The regulator sees the front of house. The intermediary controls the back.
This is not simply regulatory creativity. It potentially hollows out the regulatory intent of the FHEI framework. A model designed to ensure that foreign universities bring genuine quality, accountability, and long-term commitment to India can be operationalised in ways that transfer the operational substance of the enterprise to a private actor whose primary fiduciary obligation is to its own investors, not to India’s higher education goals.
Platform rents, equity, and the dependency problem
Three deeper critiques emerge from this structural observation.
The platform rent argument. Eruditus’s structural position – low academic risk, shielded regulatory exposure, but significant revenue share across seven or more university partnerships – means it captures rents from India’s higher education system while externalising the reputational and compliance liabilities onto its partners. This maps directly onto the platform economics critique. The platform captures value; the partners bear exposure. The public good – higher education – is reframed as a logistics problem, and the logistics company takes the commercial premium.
The equity paradox. UG degrees at Eruditus-facilitated IBCs are priced at ₹20–30 lakhs – positioned, plausibly, as 50–70% cheaper than equivalent study abroad. But this efficiency claim only holds if outbound mobility is the relevant counterfactual. Against India’s domestic higher education baseline – where quality public university education remains available at a fraction of this cost – these IBCs are stratospherically priced. The GER-50 target implies mass enrolment, not premium niches. Eruditus’s model serves an upper-middle-class segment with the resources and aspiration to consider foreign degrees: a real and legitimate market, but not the population for whom India’s internationalisation rhetoric is ostensibly designed.
The indispensable intermediary problem. Perhaps the most structurally significant risk is the least visible. As Eruditus deepens relationships across seven or more partnerships simultaneously, it accrues what might be called relational rents – influence over India market access that individual foreign HEIs cannot replicate independently. Over time, its negotiating leverage over foreign universities grows: those universities increasingly depend on Eruditus not just to enter India, but to remain viable there. Public oversight mechanisms, focused on the HEI partner, cannot see or tax these relational rents. UGC audits the curriculum of Aberdeen’s India campus. It has no visibility into the renegotiation of Eruditus’s revenue share. This is not a Trojan horse mechanism – it requires no deception. It is the structural logic of platform intermediation applied to higher education governance.
Governance for the interstitial
The argument here is not that Eruditus should not exist, or that its partnerships are illegitimate. The efficiency case for TNE intermediaries is real, and regulatory hostility to private operators in higher education has historically produced worse outcomes than regulatory naivety about them. The argument is narrower and more precise: the current regulatory architecture creates a structural asymmetry in which Eruditus captures commercial value while UGC’s accountability mechanisms remain focused on its university partners. This asymmetry was not designed – it emerged from regulations written for a single-entity model that the market has already superseded.
What would governance for this interstitial look like? Several mechanisms suggest themselves.
UGC could require disclosure of all operational partnership agreements as part of FHEI applications, making the Eruditus-type relationship visible to the regulator rather than invisible within it. Revenue-sharing arrangements could be subject to an equity cap, analogous to norms in public-private partnership models in infrastructure. A register of approved TNE intermediaries – distinct from HEIs, but regulated in their own right – would allow UGC to impose basic accountability standards on the operational layer without requiring it to govern academic content.
None of these are radical interventions. They are the kinds of governance closures that mature regulatory systems develop when market innovation outruns regulatory design.
India’s NEP imagines an internationalisation that enriches without colonising, that expands access without entrenching privilege. Whether Eruditus’s model serves or subverts that imagination depends less on its founders’ intentions than on whether India’s regulatory institutions develop the vocabulary to govern what has already arrived.
How TNE platforms are evolving into the operating system of global higher education – and what that means for the universities that partnered with them first
In January 2026, Eruditus announced partnerships with seven global universities to establish campuses across Mumbai, Bengaluru, and Gurugram. The institutions named – Illinois Institute of Technology, University of Aberdeen, University of Bristol, University of Liverpool, University of New South Wales, University of Victoria, University of York – are not second-tier names. They are credible, mid-to-upper-tier universities with genuine subject strengths, real student demand in India, and entirely rational reasons to want a physical presence in the world’s largest higher education market. Eruditus, through its subsidiary EruLearning Solutions, will manage on-ground operations: campus setup, student recruitment, admissions, and regulatory navigation.
On the surface, this is a sensible division of labour. Universities bring degrees, faculty oversight, and academic standards. Eruditus brings execution. Call it the efficiency argument – and it is, in fact, efficient.
There is also a second reading. And if you sit with it long enough, the second reading becomes the more structurally interesting one.
The hierarchy that is quietly inverting
For five centuries, the university has operated on a single unchallenged premise: it is the centre of gravity. Students come to the university. Knowledge flows from the university. Prestige accrues to the university. The hierarchy is legible and stable: institution → programme → student.
Platforms are inverting that hierarchy – not noisily, not through hostile takeover or regulatory challenge, but quietly, structurally, through the accumulation of capabilities that universities have always been poor at building: distribution, market intelligence, and commercial agility.
The pattern is familiar from other industries. In the early years of digital media, studios held the power – they owned the content, the talent, the brand. Netflix began as a distribution service. Amazon began as a bookshop. Spotify positioned itself as a service to the music industry. In each case, the entity that controlled distribution eventually controlled value. The content producers – studios, publishers, record labels – found themselves negotiating with the very infrastructure they had treated as a vendor.
Education has been slower to reach this inflection point. But it is arriving. And India’s TNE market is where the arrival will be most visible.
What platforms actually control
Universities control curriculum, accreditation, and degree authority. Those assets are real and durable. But increasingly, the assets that determine whether a student enrols – and whether an institution reaches students it cannot recruit to its home campus – sit with platforms.
Platforms control student acquisition pipelines, built over years of marketing to aspirational learner communities. They control demand data: not just which programmes students enquire about, but which ones they complete, which ones produce employment outcomes, which price points convert interest into enrolment. They control employer engagement networks that universities rarely build independently. And critically, they operate with the commercial agility that academic governance structures systematically prevent: product teams, revenue targets, rapid market testing, data-driven iteration.
In fast-growing, digitally mediated education markets – and India’s is both – this agility compounds into structural advantage.
The Eruditus model deserves careful attention because it is not the kind of platform usually invoked in these conversations. Coursera and edX are marketplaces: they aggregate and distribute content, but they do not run campuses. Eruditus is structurally different – an infrastructure operator spanning distribution (marketing, recruitment, demand analytics), operations (campus setup, admissions, cohort management), and academic facilitation (faculty coordination, programme design, delivery logistics). Most edtech platforms occupy one of these layers. Eruditus occupies all three.
The airport analogy is more precise than it first appears. Airlines bring aircraft and routes. Airport operators control runways, scheduling, ground operations, and passenger flow. Airlines may not care who operates the airport, as long as their flights land on time. But airport operators, over time, acquire substantial influence over which airlines thrive, which routes are viable, and what the passenger experience of the entire ecosystem looks like.
Eruditus is building airport infrastructure. The seven universities announced in January 2026 are the first airlines to schedule regular service.
The three-stage evolution
Platform ecosystems across industries tend to move through three recognisable stages. It is worth naming them plainly in the TNE context.
Stage one: Service provider. The platform supports existing players. It makes their entry easier, faster, cheaper. This is where most of the January 2026 announcements sit. Eruditus is described as a partner, an enabler, an operational arm. Universities perceive it as support infrastructure. The relationship is unambiguously helpful in this stage, and the helpfulness is genuine.
Stage two: Infrastructure layer. The platform becomes indispensable. Enrolment pipelines are platform-driven. Campus operations depend on the platform’s systems and relationships. The university’s India presence is no longer separable from the platform’s India presence without significant disruption. Negotiating leverage shifts. This stage arrives gradually, without a formal announcement, and is often only visible in retrospect.
Stage three: Vertical integration. The platform moves upstream – not necessarily to replace universities, but to build its own institutions alongside its infrastructure operations. By this stage it possesses everything required: deep market intelligence, operational expertise at scale, industry relationships, and accumulated credibility sufficient to attract faculty and students independently.
The surrogate TNE scenario – a platform-backed institution launched internationally, legitimacy borrowed from existing academic partnerships, then expanded via branch campuses in India and other major markets – is not science fiction. It is the logical extension of platform economics applied to a sector that is only now discovering what platform economics does to institutional hierarchies.
The overseas-first legitimacy play
If a platform entity with Eruditus’s pedigree were to move toward vertical integration – and this is the speculative but structurally coherent part of the argument – the strategically elegant sequence would not begin in India.
It would begin outside India. Dubai International Academic City, Singapore, or Abu Dhabi – jurisdictions already comfortable with private higher education ventures and international branch campuses. Launching in India first would immediately trigger regulatory scrutiny, political sensitivity around commercial actors in education, and unfavourable comparisons with IITs and established private institutions. An international launch sidesteps all of this.
From that base, the architecture builds itself. Dual degrees and joint research centres with existing university partners provide credibility transfer. Programmes designed around employment pipelines – Eruditus’s natural differentiator – provide market differentiation. A few graduating cohorts with documented career outcomes provide the legitimacy that marketing cannot manufacture. Then branch campuses in India, Southeast Asia, and Africa. By the time the institution opens in Mumbai or Bengaluru, it arrives not as an edtech company attempting to become a university, but as an established international institution expanding its global network.
The narrative shift matters enormously. And the universities that provided the early credibility transfer would find themselves, at some point in this arc, competing with the very ecosystem they helped seed.
Who evolves first – and in what sequence
If this trajectory runs – and that qualifier matters, which I return to below – the evolution does not reach all of higher education simultaneously. It moves through the system in layers.
Mid-tier foreign universities entering India through TNE feel it first. These institutions already operate in a narrow differentiation band: credible but not iconic, internationally recognised but not globally dominant. A vertically integrated ecosystem operator offering industry-linked degrees, lower tuition, and documented employment outcomes would compress their market quickly.
Premium Indian private universities feel it second. They compete on infrastructure, international collaborations, and premium positioning – the precise terrain a platform-backed institution would occupy. Their advantages – regulatory familiarity, domestic networks, cultural embeddedness – provide insulation but not immunity.
Traditional Western campuses dependent on international student mobility feel it last and least, for now. Their deep research ecosystems, historical prestige, and dense alumni networks are genuinely difficult to replicate at speed. But if the mobility premium weakens – rising costs, tightening visa environments, normalising remote work – the cost differential between overseas study and a well-designed distributed degree becomes harder for families to sustain as an unexamined assumption.
India is the first major arena where this sequence is being tested at scale.
The question universities are not yet asking
Most universities entering India through platform partnerships are focused, rationally, on the near term: regulatory approval, first cohort enrolment, faculty arrangements, the gap between 140 students in year one and 5,000 in year ten. These are the right questions for this phase of the market.
But the structural question – the one that will matter more in 2033 than it does today – is different: are we building our India presence, or are we building the platform’s India leverage?
Every month a university operates through a platform partner without developing independent regulatory knowledge, student recruitment capability, and employer relationships transfers capacity to the platform and away from the institution. What begins as an enabling relationship gradually becomes a load-bearing one.
GEDU Global Education’s trajectory is instructive here. Having invested £25 million in India with £200 million more committed across the next three years – spanning GIFT City and multiple city campuses – GEDU is building comparable infrastructure leverage to Eruditus through a different entry architecture. Two major platform operators accumulating this scale of India infrastructure, in parallel, narrows the independent operating space for universities that chose not to build their own India capacity while it was still available to build.
The argument is not against platforms. It is for eyes-open partnership – contractual protections against dependency, explicit milestones by which institutions assume direct responsibility for specific operational functions, and governance structures that maintain genuine academic sovereignty. And perhaps most importantly, institutional self-awareness about which of the three evolutionary stages the partnership is actually in.
A necessary caveat
The trajectory described here is plausible, not predetermined.
Platforms carrying operational responsibility for physical campuses cannot behave like asset-light marketplaces. Once Eruditus manages real buildings, employs local staff, and bears accountability for student outcomes, its incentives are tied to long-term ecosystem stability. A platform that damages the institutions it operates alongside damages itself. That alignment with university interests is real and should not be dismissed.
The legitimacy barrier to platform-backed universities is also genuinely high. Research ecosystems, accreditation frameworks, alumni networks, and scholarly culture are slow-moving assets that cannot be purchased or assembled quickly. Even a well-capitalised platform would need a decade to earn the kind of institutional credibility that universities accumulate across generations.
Universities still hold three assets platforms cannot easily replicate: degree authority, research ecosystems, and the accumulated legitimacy of institutions that have outlasted every disruption in their history. If they remain disciplined about protecting those assets – insisting on academic sovereignty, investing in independent India capacity, treating platform arrangements as transitional architecture rather than permanent infrastructure – the relationship can remain genuinely balanced and mutually productive.
The platform model, at its best, creates TNE supply that would not otherwise exist, and reaches students who would otherwise have no access to internationally credentialled education at a reasonable price. That matters. The efficiency argument is not cynical.
The point is simply this: understand the structural logic before it becomes the structural reality.
The last word belongs to the student
None of this would matter if the end result were better education. If platform-operated campuses genuinely deliver academic rigour, research depth, faculty continuity, and employment outcomes at a price point that makes the foreign credential accessible to families who cannot send their children abroad – then the structural shifts in institutional power are secondary to the outcomes that justify the whole enterprise.
The test is not where the power eventually sits. It is whether the student who walked into a campus in August 2026 walks out four years later with something that genuinely changed what was possible for her.
Parts I to III of my series on TNE set out to establish why India’s transnational education ventures face severe structural challenges. Over seventy-five per cent of students seek migration pathways TNE cannot provide. Foreign universities arrive with ambiguous commitments. And current operations risk becoming what I have called provisional arrangements – impressive façades that may conceal limited institutional depth.
This fourth instalment does two things. It presents evidence that those structural vulnerabilities are now materialising. And it offers families and policymakers practical tools to distinguish genuine partnerships from franchise operations – before enrolment becomes irreversible.
I. The Diplomatic Acceleration
The regulatory landscape has moved with remarkable speed. In nine months, India concluded or advanced three major trade agreements that explicitly foreground education: the India–UK Comprehensive Economic and Trade Agreement signed in May 2025, the India–EU Free Trade Agreement announced in January 2026, and the deepening of the Australia–India ECTA toward a comprehensive CECA.
The UK deal positions education within a £4.8 billion GDP framework and was followed by the announcement of nine UK campuses during Prime Minister Starmer’s October 2025 India visit. The India–EU FTA creates a formal Education and Skills Dialogue with explicit treaty language on satellite campuses. Australia’s ECTA includes mechanisms for recognising offshore campuses – and Australia’s largest-ever TNE delegation, twenty members representing sixteen institutions, timed their arrival in India last week to coincide with the QS India Summit 2026 in Goa.
Canada arrived with perhaps the most striking signal of all. On 28 February 2026, Universities Canada and Colleges and Institutes Canada launched the Canada–India Talent and Innovation Strategy in Mumbai, bringing over twenty Canadian university presidents – the largest-ever Canadian academic delegation to India – to sign thirteen new institutional MOUs and position education as a central pillar of Canada’s Indo-Pacific Strategy. Days later, the joint India–Canada Leaders’ Statement of 2 March explicitly agreed to facilitate offshore Canadian campuses in India. The speed and scale of the Canadian pivot is arresting – and its motivation, as the later sections of this instalment show, is as instructive as its ambition. See Section XIX for details.
These instruments create legal pathways for transnational education. They do not verify whether specific campuses demonstrate genuine commitment through observable actions. That distinction matters enormously – and it is the one most easily lost in diplomatic ceremony.
II. The Regulatory Transition
The domestic landscape is itself in motion. The transition from the University Grants Commission to a single Higher Education Commission of India moved from concept to legislation, with the HECI Bill 2025 tabled in Parliament in December 2025. The proposed four-pillar structure – separate verticals for regulation, accreditation, academic standards, and funding – means that campuses approved today will spend most of their operational lives under a regulatory framework that does not yet exist.
At PIE Live India 2026, this prompted the question: “Will we have a bottleneck after this initial flurry of announcements?”
As of February 2026, eighteen international branch campuses have been approved or announced: nine UK, seven Australian, one US, one Italian. Six are concentrated in Mumbai, five in GIFT City, four in Bangalore, three in Delhi-NCR, twelve operating under UGC mainland regulations and six under IFSCA at GIFT City.
Only three are operational: the University of Southampton at Gurugram (launched August 2025 with approximately 150–170 students from over 800 applications), Deakin University at GIFT City (operational since July 2024), and the University of Wollongong at GIFT City (operational since July 2024, with single-digit initial enrolment).
Fifteen campuses – 83 per cent of announced ventures – remain at Approved or Letter of Intent stage despite regulatory clearances. This pattern raises questions about whether approvals translate to operations, and whether announced timelines reflect institutional commitment or aspirational planning.
III. The Zero-Sum Critique
The analysis is not isolated. At PIE Live India 2026, Dr. Ram Sharma – Chancellor of UPES and Founding Director of Plaksha University – described international branch campuses as a “zero sum game for the country” in a keynote delivered to an audience that included government officials. His indictment was specific: “We were promised foreign capital to India, expertise or faculty members would come from overseas, but at least the preliminary indications suggest that this is not the case.”
Southampton’s first cohort is 100 per cent Indian students – a detail disclosed at PIE Live India 2026 that confirms these campuses are adding to capacity while competing with local private universities, rather than serving international mobility. This validates the structural challenge I have been documenting: India-based TNE cannot provide what drives international education demand – actual relocation, post-study work pathways, and migration opportunities.
Mr. Armstrong Pame, Joint Secretary of the Government of India, present at Sharma’s keynote, offered a notably non-committal response: “I heard Mr Ram speaking. I observed everything. And it is not easy to answer everything that people want to say.”
Indeed it is not.
IV. The Competitive Reality
With 1.33 million Indians studying overseas in 2024 despite visa restrictions in major markets, students facing constraints in traditional destinations are choosing alternative international locations – Germany, France (17 per cent annual growth), Singapore (25 per cent growth), Dubai (threefold growth, hosting 42,000 students across 37 branch campuses), New Zealand (34 per cent increase) – not India-based foreign campuses.
December 2024 data reveals the immigration pipeline under systemic pressure: 75 per cent of Canadian universities report international enrolment declines (36 per cent undergraduate, 35 per cent postgraduate), while 48 per cent of US institutions report undergraduate declines and 63 per cent postgraduate declines.
The Office for Students reported in November 2024 that 72 per cent of England’s universities are projected to be in deficit by 2025–26. This context matters. A December 2024 briefing for UK university leaders described TNE candidly as a “strategic hedge” – one requiring long-term institutional commitment that “rarely aligns neatly with senior leadership tenure cycles.”
The intermediary architecture is equally telling. At PIE Live India 2026, it emerged that seven of the nine British universities planning to open in India are working through a single private company: Emeritus (Eruditus/ Daskalos). Other intermediaries include Navitas, Oxford International, ECA, and GEDU. Ram Sharma noted that IBCs often operate on 49–51 per cent joint ownership models with private equity companies, allowing operational profits to be extracted more readily – contrasting sharply with Indian private universities, where 70 per cent-plus of the sector is classified as not-for-profit. GIFT City “operates outside Indian domestic tax and exchange controls, allowing international universities to repatriate 100 per cent of their income through foreign exchange.”
Sharma’s conclusion was stark: “It is largely riding on venture capital or private equity money, which want more aggressive returns and will put profits ahead of academics. That then exposes the sector to more risks.”
V. Practitioners and Sceptics Alike
Even those closest to the work acknowledge the difficulties. At PIE Live India 2025, Phil Wells warned of the “risk of misalignment, as some universities are entering India not necessarily with long-term engagement in mind, but as a response to financial pressures.” Ravneet Pawha, VP Global Engagement at Deakin – one of the three operational campuses – observed that “in India, student expectations are different” from Australia, acknowledging the challenge of contextual adaptation.
At QS India Summit 2025, a formal debate asked: “Will hosting foreign universities in India improve Indian higher education?” – with the Vice Chancellor of O.P. Jindal Global University speaking against the motion. That this question was debated at the sector’s premier conference indicates that even promotional forums now contain substantive scepticism.
VI. From Critique to Verification
Much of the public conversation around transnational education is framed as opportunity. On the surface, this appears straightforward. Yet beneath this framing sits a dense ecosystem: consultants, real-estate brokers, summit organisers, pathway providers, and assorted facilitators who claim expertise in navigating India’s complex education landscape. Their services are not inherently illegitimate – many provide genuine value – but their incentives are rarely neutral. Most intermediaries in the TNE space are compensated not for the long-term academic success of a campus, but for entry itself: feasibility studies completed, memoranda of understanding signed, announcements made, launches staged.
In such an environment, optimism becomes structural. What is presented as confidence may reflect incentive-aligned perspectives rather than neutral assessment – the natural result of compensation structures that reward momentum over permanence.
This instalment therefore moves from critique to verification. It treats India’s TNE moment not as an occasion for celebration or despair but as a test case: can families, policymakers, and institutions insist on verifiable commitments that separate tinsel from substance, before the next wave of announcements hardens into architecture, debt, and disappointed students?
VII. The Immigration Pipeline Under Pressure
Comprehensive data from the Global Enrolment Benchmark Survey covering nearly five hundred institutions worldwide revealed, in December 2024, that 75 per cent of Canadian universities reported international enrolment declines in 2025, with undergraduate numbers dropping 36 per cent and postgraduate 35 per cent year-over-year. In the United States, 48 per cent of institutions reported undergraduate declines and 63 per cent postgraduate declines.
Sector leaders emphasised at major conferences that this is not temporary turbulence. The declines reflect structural contractions shaped by policy shifts, visa uncertainty, and affordability pressures. “Globally, North America is the outlier now, which traditionally has not been the case.”
For two decades, international education carried an implicit promise: study would convert into work, work into mobility, mobility into justified cost. That chain is now breaking. Labour market pressures – job cuts, hiring freezes, AI-driven compression of entry-level roles, and tightening visa regimes across the UK, Canada, Australia, and Europe – have hollowed out graduate pathways with remarkable speed.
Trade agreements have responded by preserving rather than restricting mobility pathways, making actual international study more attractive relative to domestic TNE substitutes. But this only sharpens the contradiction: TNE in India offers international credentials without the mobility that justifies their premium pricing, at precisely the moment when mobility has become harder to secure and more valuable when available.
VIII. The Fraud Factor
Industry reports reveal systemic practices that have undermined the integrity of the immigration-focused model on which much of international education economics has depended.
Documented concerns include agents helping fabricate or inflate financial documents to obtain visas for students who cannot legitimately afford international education. A noted pattern shows a small cohort of students and agents engaging in questionable practices having a disproportionate impact on the wider, genuine student population – and “increasingly contributing to government clampdowns.”
When fraudulent documents enter destination-country systems, the consequences extend beyond a single application: institutional reputation is damaged, unscrupulous actors gain unfair advantages, and students who play by the rules are harmed. Growing sector acknowledgement confirms that what many institutions and agents have been doing is “not just morally questionable – it’s harming the very foundation of international education recruitment.”
The key implication for India-based TNE is indirect but profound. The same recruitment channels and agent networks that have driven migration-focused aspirations are under scrutiny. As destination countries tighten oversight and sanctions, the pool of students who can or will pursue high-cost, migration-linked education shrinks. TNE in India – implicitly marketed as a softer landing for those squeezed out of traditional pathways – thus targets a segment whose channels are being structurally disrupted.
IX. The Policy Response
Destination countries are responding not with incremental adjustments but with dramatic restrictions. In Canada, 90 per cent of institutions cite restrictive government policies as the top obstacle; 60 per cent are cutting budgets and 50 per cent anticipate staff layoffs. In the United States, 85 per cent identify restrictive policies and visa issues as major problems – up from 58 per cent in 2024 – as federal immigration crackdowns intensify.
The United Kingdom, while seeing modest 3 per cent growth, faces the worst affordability challenges globally, with 72 per cent citing costs as a barrier, up from 58 per cent.
When families experience or observe these crackdowns, they seek alternatives – but the alternatives they favour are other countries still offering migration pathways, not domestic TNE versions of newly hostile brands.
X. The Structural Impossibility
This evidence reinforces why India-based TNE faces what I have called a structural impossibility.
The immigration-focused market segment that enables international education’s economic sustainability operates through recruitment channels increasingly recognised as systemically problematic. Even if India-based TNE campuses could provide migration pathways (which they cannot), they would be attempting to serve a market whose dominant recruitment practices destination countries are actively working to eliminate.
When immigration policies tighten, enrolment does not redirect towards India-based alternatives. Demand either disappears entirely or flows to alternative international destinations – Germany, Ireland, France, Singapore, Dubai, New Zealand – where students can still combine study with relocation and post-study options.
TNE’s underlying assumption – that visa restriction in the Big Four automatically creates demand for India-based international education – underestimates how deeply migration aspiration is embedded in decision-making. For most families, the equation is simple: if mobility is no longer available, the premium attached to international credentials collapses. Domestic TNE that offers neither mobility nor substantial cost advantage over home-grown private universities becomes, at best, a second-choice compromise and, at worst, an expensive illusion.
XI. Where Demand Actually Goes: The Competitive Map
Recent data reveals clearly where demand flows when traditional pathways face pressure – and the pattern is sobering. With over 1.8 million Indians currently studying overseas (a 40 per cent jump from 2023), students facing Big Four restrictions are choosing alternative international locations, not foreign campuses inside India.
Europe has seen dramatic rises: Germany, driven by a 40–60 per cent cost advantage over North America; Ireland, where demand is healthy and constrained more by capacity than appetite; France, with a 17 per cent annual increase in Indian enrolments reaching roughly 8,000 students in 2024–25; and the Netherlands with around 3,500 Indian students. Singapore shows 25 per cent year-over-year growth; Japan and Korea are witnessing rapid expansion; New Zealand reports a 34 per cent enrolment increase.
Dubai offers the clearest counterpoint. In 2024–25, Dubai hosted approximately 42,000 students across 37 international branch campuses, with Indian students comprising 42–43 per cent of the international cohort. Overall enrolment in Dubai’s higher education grew by more than 20 per cent, with the international share rising from 25.3 per cent to 29.4 per cent in a single year. Interest from India has grown almost threefold in enquiries and conversions, driven by safety, proximity, and emerging industries in blockchain, fintech, and energy.
Crucially, Dubai’s model offers what India-based TNE cannot: actual international relocation to a global city, post-study work pathways, integration into the local economy, and daily exposure to a genuinely international environment. Students do not simply acquire a foreign credential; they live, work, and network internationally.
The crushing implication for India-based TNE is this: students facing restrictions in traditional destinations choose other international locations – not foreign-branded education delivered domestically in India. Survey data indicating that 91 per cent of students want “some form of international exposure” clarifies why. They do not want foreign credentials earned at home; they want actual international experience.
India-based TNE thus competes simultaneously with domestic Indian universities that undercut it on cost by 40–70 per cent, and with a widening menu of international destinations that outcompete it on experience, migration opportunities, and long-term returns. This is not a marginal disadvantage. It is a structural mismatch.
XII. Four Drivers That Work Against India-Based TNE
Analysis across regions identifies four drivers now shaping Indian students’ destination choices, each of which favours actual international relocation over India-based TNE.
Affordability. Europe and parts of Asia offer a 40–60 per cent cost advantage over North America while still providing international relocation. Against these options, India-based TNE occupies an awkward middle – significantly more expensive than domestic universities, but lacking the migration benefits that justify the fees of full overseas study.
Quality and reputation. Perceived quality remains tied to experience at the home campus, not its offshore version. A degree from University X in Germany or Singapore still signals something different from the same brand delivered in leased space in Gurugram or GIFT City, especially when research infrastructure and faculty depth differ markedly.
Career opportunities. Career outcomes in migration-focused education depend heavily on post-study work rights and longer-term residence options. These pathways are embedded in host-country labour markets, not in branch campuses without corresponding immigration routes. TNE in India cannot deliver the labour-market and settlement options students now treat as integral to the value proposition.
Access and pathways. Countries with clearer, structured education pathways – transparent rules, predictable post-study options, coherent qualification frameworks – are increasingly attractive. The Australia–India ECTA, India–UK CETA, and India–EU FTA have strengthened these structured pathways for students who actually relocate, not for those who remain in India on foreign-branded programmes.
Taken together, these drivers explain why, when Canada restricts, students look to Germany or Singapore – not to Canadian campuses in India; when the UK limits dependants, they investigate Ireland, the Netherlands, or Dubai – not UK-branded degrees in Gurugram.
XIII. Why Even Fear Won’t Save the Model
A plausible counter-argument suggests that hostile visa regimes might create an opening for India-based TNE: families may seek “international credentials without international risk.” A December 2024 survey found 90 per cent of international students in the US reporting moderate to extreme fear about visa status, with only 4 per cent feeling very or extremely safe. Federal policies have included revoking more than eight thousand student visas, suspending new visa interviews, high-profile arrests, and targeted surveillance – contributing to a 17 per cent drop in international enrolment in autumn 2024.
But the fear-driven segment is not looking for rebranded credentials. It is fleeing hostile conditions. Students who describe life as “under siege” are not seeking US-branded alternatives in India; they are exiting the US brand entirely and choosing destinations that combine safety with authentic international experience. Empirically, when traditional destinations become hostile, enrolments redirect to other international locations – Singapore up 25 per cent, New Zealand up 34 per cent, Dubai showing threefold growth. They do not redirect, in any meaningful volume, to domestic versions of those countries’ brands.
Moreover, hostile visa regimes tarnish source-country brands. When governments treat international students with suspicion or overt hostility, families reasonably question whether institutions from those countries – wherever they operate – will provide reliable protection. The foreign brand can become a liability rather than an asset, especially when India-based operations cannot offer offsetting migration benefits.
India-based TNE offers safety without internationalisation – an inferior proposition relative to accessible alternatives that offer both.
XIV. Why Other TNE Models Succeed Whilst India’s Totter
Dubai aligns TNE with migration and residence pathways. Southeast Asian countries – Vietnam, Malaysia, Indonesia – deploy TNE as a tool for rapidly growing in-country skill sets in AI, robotics, med-tech, and green technologies through partnerships with Singaporean, Japanese, and Australian institutions. Governments identify priority sectors and direct TNE toward those specific gaps. TNE campuses are embedded in coordinated education–industry ecosystems where employers co-design curricula, provide internships, and commit to hiring graduates. Success is measured in domestic employment and capability gains, not in headline counts of foreign brands.
Germany uses TNE to maintain teaching capacity while sustaining high-value research ecosystems. German institutions run dual-degree programmes, offshore training centres, and internationalised apprenticeships that create pathways into German research and industrial networks, involving both physical relocation and remote collaboration.
Across these regions, successful TNE models share a common logic: they are anchored in national talent strategies rather than in abstract notions of global visibility. Dubai aligns TNE with migration and residency pathways; Southeast Asia with domestic workforce development; Germany with research capacity and industrial collaboration.
India’s TNE, by contrast, serves none of these functions coherently. It does not offer international relocation or foreign work authorisation. It is not systematically embedded in government-directed workforce plans. It contributes little to research capacity because most campuses lack serious laboratories and doctoral ecosystems. And it does not create distinct talent pipelines, since graduates enter the same labour market as peers from domestic universities.
The result is what I would call a strategic no-man’s-land: insufficient internationalisation to satisfy students seeking global experience, insufficient integration to advance national development goals, and insufficient research depth to reshape knowledge production.
Successful TNE models align three elements: who is being trained, for what labour-market or research roles, and under which migration or institutional arrangements. India’s TNE currently aligns none of these axes. Students seek international credentials but receive domestic experience. Families want migration pathways but get none. India needs capacity building but hosts campuses that compete with rather than complement domestic universities. Foreign universities need revenue but face structural demand and competition that make long-term viability uncertain.
XV. The Seven-Indicator Verification Framework
Families cannot rely on institutional prestige, trade agreements, or conference rhetoric to judge TNE quality. What matters is a set of observable commitments that universities either have or have not made by around Year 2 of operation. Marketing narratives emphasise rankings, international alumni, and visionary partnerships while leaving opaque the concrete decisions that determine whether a campus is a university or a teaching franchise – land, faculty, research, protections, governance.
A highly ranked university can still run a tinsel operation. A mid-ranked one can behave with deep seriousness. The indicators are designed to reveal that difference.
1. Land purchase versus leasing – the permanence test A genuine commitment shows up as land purchased or long-term development rights, with construction timelines and masterplans published and property deeds verifiable by Year 3. Red flags: indefinite leasing of commercial “vertical” space, vague references to future purchase, no published plans or contracts, campuses still in leased offices after several years.
2. Permanent faculty versus rotating visitors – the academic community test By Year 2, at least 40–50 per cent of faculty should be on permanent, multi-year contracts (rising toward 75 per cent by Year 5), with families relocated, research expectations set, and public CVs available. Red flags: 80 per cent or more visiting staff from the home campus, heavy reliance on adjuncts, teaching-only roles, lack of disclosure on faculty composition or research expectations.
3. Research infrastructure versus classroom technology – the university test Genuine universities budget for laboratories (crores over 3–5 years), maintain physical library collections, support faculty research grants, run doctoral programmes, and develop joint research infrastructure with Indian partners. Red flags: investment concentrated in smart classrooms and video technology, a “library” meaning only databases, minimal research funding, no labs, and PhD programmes permanently “under consideration.”
4. Guaranteed mobility versus aspirational exchanges – the international experience test Contractually guaranteed time at the home campus – typically 50 per cent of credits or at least one semester – with 100 per cent participation, costs covered or clearly capped, and published participation statistics. Red flags: language of “opportunities” and “possibilities,” competitive scholarships available to a small minority, extra 10–15 lakh rupees in self-funded costs, and no data on actual participation.
5. Student protection mechanisms versus verbal assurances – the risk test Independently audited escrow funds covering typically 1–2 years of tuition for all enrolled students, legally binding teach-out agreements with named institutions, and clear written triggers for protection if the campus closes. Red flags: generic talk of parent-campus commitment, no escrow accounts, no named teach-out partners, and policies that leave families bearing the full closure risk.
6. Governance transparency versus opaque subsidiaries – the partnership test Published governance structures with Indian representation, clear academic decision-making processes, and public annual reports on enrolment, finances, and outcomes. Red flags: complex SPVs, private-equity-heavy 49–51 ownership structures, undisclosed intermediary roles, and no public governance or financial reporting.
7. Curriculum adaptation versus template importation – the engagement test Thirty to forty per cent of syllabi contextualised to India, faculty with India and South Asia expertise, local research agendas, and community and industry partnerships with visible outcomes. Red flags: copy-paste syllabi from the home campus, Western-only case studies, no local research focus, no community or industry engagement in India.
These indicators are deliberately hard to fake. Each requires sunk capital, structural choices, or published documentation that marketing alone cannot manufacture.
The two-year litmus test is straightforward. By the end of Year 2, a campus that genuinely intends to stay will have bought land or committed to long-term development, hired a substantial permanent faculty core, begun investing in research infrastructure, run its first guaranteed mobility cohorts, put escrow and teach-out protections in place, published governance information, and demonstrated visible curriculum adaptation.
Conversely, a campus that remains in leased office space, staffed primarily by rotating visitors, with no labs, only aspirational mobility, no formal protection mechanisms, opaque ownership, and imported syllabi is signalling that it is keeping exit options open and treating India as a provisional market experiment. At that point, families are no longer speculating about intention. They are reading off the institutional balance sheet.
XVI. How Families Should Use the Framework
The checklist can be worked through in roughly ninety minutes before committing to an India-based foreign campus. Check land-ownership records. Read faculty CVs and LinkedIn profiles. Scan for PhD programmes and research output. Scrutinise mobility clauses in student handbooks. Demand specific closure protections. Probe ownership and curriculum details.
If, by Year 2, a campus cannot demonstrate most of these commitments – especially land, permanent faculty, research infrastructure, and concrete protections – treat it as a high-risk, provisional operation. Compare it seriously with domestic Indian universities that cost 40–70 per cent less. Premium pricing is only justified where there is premium substance. Where that substance is absent, brand alone should not carry the day.
For regulators transitioning from UGC to HECI, the same seven indicators can be embedded into approval and renewal processes, turning what is now advisory into a formal quality floor. Tiered regulatory tracks, mandatory disclosure, and a student protection fund – all grounded in these indicators – would ensure that trade agreements and diplomatic narratives do not override hard questions about land, faculty, research, and risk-sharing.
For institutions, the framework functions as both mirror and map. Minimal-commitment models – leased floors, rotating faculty, no labs, soft promises on mobility – may reduce capital exposure but maximise reputational risk in a market that is becoming more sceptical and data-hungry. The only credible response is to choose depth over display, and to be prepared to demonstrate that choice in land records, contracts, laboratories, governance documents, and syllabi. Institutions unwilling to make these commitments should consider more modest partnership models – joint programmes, research centres, mobility arrangements – rather than over-promising through full-campus rhetoric they cannot sustain.
XVII. The Selection Bias Problem
India’s TNE market shows clear adverse selection: institutions that are financially stressed – many UK, some Australian – are disproportionately the ones entering, while financially secure European publics, elite Asian universities, and well-endowed US institutions mostly stay away. When universities evaluate India without revenue compulsion, many decide that the capital, complexity, and reputational risks outweigh the returns. Those that still enter often do so because they have fewer alternatives at home.
UK universities arrive predominantly from financial pressure – frozen home tuition at £9,250 since 2017, rising costs, and heavy dependence on international student fees that now make up 30–40 per cent of income at many institutions. The November 2024 Office for Students projection (72 per cent of English universities in deficit by 2025–26) contextualises everything. When seven of the nine UK universities entering India are working through a single intermediary, this is not nine distinct institutional strategies; it is operational convergence around what one provider can deliver – leased vertical campuses, shared back-end, PE-style joint ventures.
Australian universities bring long regional TNE experience in Southeast Asia and operate within a government framework explicitly designed to support education exports. But Australian government research is strikingly candid: around 10 per cent of branch campuses globally have failed and ceased operations, and many institutions – including Australian ones – have discovered that running an overseas branch is “complex and usually unprofitable.” Even experienced players approach India with an awareness of risk and margin fragility that families should take seriously.
US universities are conspicuous by their near-absence – just one approved campus, no Ivy League, no flagship state university, no top-tier private research institution. This restraint connects to stronger endowments and diversified revenue among elites, painful memories of past branch campus failures, and governance cultures – trustees, senates, faculty – wary of complex, low-margin, brand-risky projects. That systems with the most financial headroom and brand capital are not rushing into India should temper assumptions that TNE is an obviously attractive or low-risk proposition for high-quality providers.
Canadian institutions are the newest entrants, and their motivation is the most transparent of all. The Canada–India Talent and Innovation Strategy was launched in February 2026 with over twenty university presidents in attendance – the largest-ever Canadian academic delegation to India. Yet the strategic logic was stated plainly by India’s own Foreign Secretary: with Canadian visa refusal rates for Indian students rising to approximately 74 per cent by August 2025, offshore and hybrid campuses are being pursued as alternative pathways because the traditional pipeline has effectively broken. Canadian institutions are not arriving in India because they have assessed it as the right long-term academic home; they are arriving because their international enrolment collapsed – 75 per cent of Canadian universities reported declines in 2025, with undergraduate numbers falling 36 per cent year-over-year. The offshore campus is a workaround dressed as a strategy.
Continental Europe presents the clearest signal through absence. Despite the India–EU FTA’s explicit references to satellite campuses, no major continental European university has opened a campus in India. Germany, France, the Netherlands, and Nordic public universities have instead focused on attracting Indians to Europe – where tuition is low or free and post-study work rights are available – rather than exporting their brands domestically. Singapore’s top universities already recruit Indian students directly into Singaporean ecosystems and have little incentive to cannibalise that flow via India-based delivery.
The pattern of who stays away leads to a blunt conclusion. India’s TNE pipeline shows adverse selection. Systems and institutions under greater financial stress are disproportionately represented. Those with secure funding and strong inbound appeal have chosen not to participate. In such a market, the seven-indicator framework is not optional. It is the minimum due diligence families must perform.
XVIII. The Political Economy of Optimism
Part of what makes verification difficult is structural. Conference circuits, intermediaries, event organisers, and some policy narratives all have structural incentives to amplify urgency, celebrate announcements, and underplay long-term academic risk. Approvals are equated with viability. MoUs are equated with outcomes. The presence of foreign logos is equated with guaranteed quality. In an echo chamber where optimism is monetised and scepticism recoded as obstruction, the families who should be asking hard questions are instead handed brochures.
The two regulatory pathways – GIFT City under IFSCA, and UGC mainland campuses – illustrate this well. GIFT City campuses enjoy an offshore-like financial and regulatory regime: full foreign ownership, 100 per cent income-tax exemption for ten of fifteen years, complete profit repatriation in foreign currency, and relaxed infrastructure norms. But degree recognition is ambiguous – same as the parent-country award, without automatic UGC equivalence. Mainland UGC campuses offer better integration with Indian employers and universities, but fewer financial incentives for providers.
The harder question behind these regulatory choices is: are we building a durable Indian presence, or a fiscally attractive, easily reversible outpost? Once policy discourse frames TNE primarily as a macro-economic tool – a way to stem outward foreign exchange flows, monetise urban land, and show progress on retaining talent – academic questions about faculty permanence, research capacity, governance autonomy, and student protections risk being subordinated to metrics like forex retained and square footage occupied.
XIX. The Canadian Pivot: Adversity or Architecture?
The most vivid illustration of the structural contradiction at the heart of India-based TNE arrived not from a conference panel but from a state visit.
On 2 March 2026, during Prime Minister Mark Carney’s visit to India, the joint India–Canada Leaders’ Statement agreed explicitly to “facilitate the establishment of offshore campuses of leading Canadian institutions in India.” Three hybrid study locations were announced: an innovation campus linking Dalhousie University with IIT Tirupati and IISER Tirupati, a University of Toronto Centre of Excellence in India focused on AI research and development, and a McGill University Centre of Excellence, also AI-focused.
This was preceded, days earlier on 28 February, by the launch of the Canada–India Talent and Innovation Strategy in Mumbai – a framework bringing together over twenty leading Canadian institutions built around four pillars: embedding Canadian capability in India’s priority sectors, translating knowledge and talent into economic outcomes, rebalancing the talent relationship, and demonstrating credibility through speed and delivery. Thirteen new MOUs between Canadian and Indian universities were signed at its heart: the University of British Columbia and Simon Fraser University with O.P. Jindal Global University; the University of Toronto with the Indian Institute of Science and separately with Jio Institute for AI collaboration; Dalhousie with SRM Institute for a Nursing Dual Degree programme; and McGill, Waterloo, Algoma, and others with Indian counterparts across sectors from clean energy to pathway programmes.
The University of Toronto committed CAD $100 million in funding for up to 200 fully funded scholarships for Indian students to study in Canada. The largest-ever Canadian academic delegation to India – over twenty university presidents – preceded the Carney visit and set the stage for these signings.
On its face, this looks like momentum. In practice, it reads as a confession.
India’s Foreign Secretary Vikram Kumaran acknowledged the strategic logic directly: with Canadian visa refusal rates for Indian students rising to approximately 74 per cent by August 2025 – up from roughly 32 per cent previously – offshore and hybrid campuses are being actively pursued as alternative pathways to deliver Canadian educational quality without requiring students to relocate.
Pause here. A country whose visa refusal rate for Indian students has more than doubled in two years is now proposing to bring Canadian education to India because Indian students can no longer reliably get to Canada. The offshore campus is not a vision of deepened partnership; it is a workaround for a broken pipeline.
This matters enormously for the verification framework. The Canada–India strategy presents precisely the kind of diplomatic architecture – Leaders’ Statements, ministerial witnesses, grand delegation visits, hundred-million-dollar scholarship commitments – that this series has warned can be mistaken for institutional commitment. The questions the seven-indicator framework asks do not disappear because the agreement was signed in the presence of a prime minister. They become more urgent.
Is the University of Toronto Centre of Excellence a campus with land, permanent faculty, research infrastructure, and student protections – or a Centre of Excellence in name, occupying leased space, staffed by rotating visitors, with its governance buried in an SPV? Will the Dalhousie–SRM Nursing Dual Degree offer contractually guaranteed clinical experience in Canada, or will those 25 supernumerary seats become another “opportunity” and “possibility” in the student handbook fine print? Will the Algoma pathway agreements produce genuine degree outcomes – or serve primarily as recruitment funnels into programmes that benefit Algoma’s own enrolment recovery?
These are not cynical questions. They are precisely the questions that the structural history of TNE demands. Canadian universities enter this moment from the same position of revenue pressure and enrolment decline documented throughout this instalment: 75 per cent of Canadian universities reported international enrolment declines in 2025, with undergraduate numbers falling 36 per cent year-over-year. The Canada–India Talent and Innovation Strategy is not being launched from a position of abundance; it is a response to crisis.
That does not make it valueless. The Toronto–IISc AI collaboration, linking one of the world’s leading research universities with one of India’s finest scientific institutions, has the shape of genuine research partnership rather than franchise operation. The Dalhousie–IIT Tirupati innovation campus – if it involves shared research infrastructure, joint doctoral supervision, and bidirectional faculty movement – could represent exactly the research-capacity-supplement model that Germany has used to good effect. The nursing dual degree, if the Canadian clinical placements are binding rather than aspirational, addresses a genuine workforce need with a genuinely international dimension.
The word to watch in every one of these agreements is if.
Canada’s pivot to India-based delivery confirms, rather than challenges, the central argument of this series. When visa hostility closes the traditional pathway, the response is not to question whether offshore campuses can substitute for actual international mobility – it is to announce offshore campuses and let the framework papers do the reassuring. India’s Foreign Secretary is right that the logic is coherent as a workaround. But workarounds are provisional by definition. A campus built to circumvent a broken visa system is not the same as a campus built because an institution has decided India is where it wants to be for the next generation.
Apply the two-year litmus test. By early 2028, we will know whether the University of Toronto Centre of Excellence has bought or developed land, hired permanent faculty in India, produced joint research output with Indian partners, and enrolled students under binding mobility guarantees – or whether it remains a Centre of Excellence in a leased floor of a business park, staffed by rotating faculty, with governance documents that nobody outside the SPV has read.
The Canada–India Talent and Innovation Strategy deserves a fair hearing and genuine scrutiny in equal measure. The announcement is real. Whether the architecture behind it is real is what the next two years will tell.
XX. What It All Adds Up To
The evidence from multiple independent sources accumulates. India-based TNE faces structural challenges arising from migration-focused demand it cannot access, source institutions entering from positions of financial pressure, competitive disadvantage against both domestic alternatives and expanding international options, ownership structures enabling profit extraction while limiting institutional exposure, intermediary concentration (seven of nine UK universities through one company), and strategic positioning that Ram Sharma describes as a zero-sum game where early indications show we are not getting any real capital flowing in.
The choice between provisional arrangements and substantive commitment remains open – but only if families demand verification through concrete indicators before enrolment, policymakers implement mandatory disclosure addressing ownership structures and profit extraction mechanisms, and institutions choose genuine commitment over hedging strategies mediated through private equity partnerships.
As TNE functions increasingly as a mirror reflecting global higher education’s uncertainty about its own value proposition, one thing remains clear: India’s students deserve educational partnerships where actions match promises, where governance is transparent rather than opaque, where faculty are permanent rather than rotating, where commitments are binding rather than aspirational, and where substance replaces optimism.
The minimum price of trust is not complicated. It is capital that cannot flee at the first stress. Faculty who cannot rotate out at the first difficulty. Research that is more than a promise. And governance that is legible to those whose lives it will shape.
When campuses show land on the books, faculty on the ground, labs in use, mobility delivered at scale, protections in force, and governance and curriculum adapted to Indian realities – they should be welcomed and even celebrated.
When they do not, India, and Indian families, are entitled to walk away.
I closely followed Finance Minister Nirmala Sitharaman’s Union Budget 2026 speech. What stood out wasn’t just the allocation – it was the conceptual shift: education framed as economic infrastructure, not merely a social sector.
For the first time, a Union Budget explicitly connects learning outcomes to export competitiveness, industrial corridors, and global value chains.
Four announcements merit attention:
High-Powered Education-to-Employment Committee A standing committee tasked with aligning learning outcomes to services-led growth, exports, and emerging technologies like AI. This moves us from credentialism to capability. The critical question: will it have enforcement authority, or remain advisory?
AVGC Content Creator Labs in 15,000 Schools and 500 Colleges India’s Animation, Visual Effects, Gaming, and Comics sector is expanding into global markets facing acute talent shortages. Early exposure to creative and technical production skills could position India as a preferred supplier of job-ready talent. But infrastructure alone won’t scale this – it needs to be underpinned by foundational learning improvements and sustained teacher capacity building.
One Girls’ Hostel in Every District A direct intervention addressing a persistent access barrier. Establishing hostels near higher education and STEM institutions will measurably improve women’s participation and retention rates.
Five University Townships Near Industrial and Logistics Corridors The most structurally ambitious proposal. Co-locating universities, research facilities, skilling centres, and industry within integrated ecosystems creates a production system, not parallel schemes. These townships could function as gateways to both domestic manufacturing and global value chains.
What remains unspecified: The Budget is clear on where learners should end up. What’s under-defined is how responsibility for outcomes will be shared among universities, regulators, and employers. Detailed governance models, quality benchmarks, curriculum co-ownership, and placement pathways would eventually need to be drawn up in detail. Faculty development and institutional autonomy will be decisive – outcomes-led systems depend as much on empowered educators as on aligned employers.
What Was Not Addressed: Transnational Education and International Branch Campuses
No direct references were made to transnational education (TNE), international branch campuses (IBCs), or the NITI Aayog report on internationalisation of higher education released just weeks before the budget in January 2026.
The only international education dimension mentioned was a reduction in Tax Collected at Source (TCS) under the Liberalised Remittance Scheme from 5% to 2% for education and medical remittances abroad. This provides modest relief for families sending students overseas but does not address inbound internationalisation or regulatory frameworks for foreign universities.
The silence is notable. The NITI Aayog report proposed a comprehensive roadmap including Vishwa Bandhu Scholarships, a USD 10 billion Bharat Vidya Kosh research fund, an Erasmus+-style Tagore Framework, and regulatory easing for foreign campuses – all aimed at transforming India into a global education hub by 2047.
As of early 2026, 17 foreign universities (mostly from the UK) have announced plans to establish campuses in India under UGC 2023 regulations, and IBCs can operate with regulatory exemptions in GIFT City since 2022. However, without budgetary allocation or policy signals in Budget 2026, implementation timelines and government support mechanisms remain unclear.
The underlying logic remains simple: India’s demographic dividend is not automatic. It requires education, skills, and employment to move in sync – and increasingly, in both directions across borders. If implementation matches intent on the domestic front, these measures could convert India’s talent base into an exportable advantage. But without parallel progress on inbound internationalisation, we risk addressing only half the equation.
The dividends – economic, social, and strategic – now rest on execution, institutional collaboration, and whether the next policy cycle addresses what this budget left unspoken.
India’s enthusiasm for transnational education has reached a critical mass. Policy papers tout the promise of international campuses, joint degrees multiply across disciplines, and universities brand themselves with foreign partnerships. The narrative is seductive: if Indian students cannot always go abroad, bring the world to India. Open the gates to global institutions, and quality will follow.
But this enthusiasm obscures a more uncomfortable reality. If we strip away the rhetoric, India is not pursuing TNE because it lacks education. It is doing so because it is trying to plug a set of structural gaps it has found politically difficult to fix from within. Seen clearly, transnational education is being asked to do surrogate work – compensating for trust deficits, not knowledge deficits.
The real question is not whether TNE can deliver on its promises, but whether India is willing to address the foundational deficits that make TNE seem necessary in the first place. International campuses, foreign faculty, and globally benchmarked curricula can only deliver value if the domestic higher education ecosystem is capable of absorbing and sustaining them. Right now, several structural issues remain unresolved. Until India fixes these, TNE risks becoming another well-branded promise chasing the same old gaps.
The Credibility Gap: Signalling, Not Capacity
India produces graduates at scale. What it lacks is globally legible signalling. Employers – domestic and international – struggle to distinguish quality across a vast, uneven system where institutional reputation varies wildly, accreditation is inconsistent, and program outcomes are opaque. Rankings, brands, and affiliations have become proxies for trust because more reliable signals are absent.
Foreign universities offer an imported signalling shortcut: a degree whose value is pre-certified in global labour markets. This is less about pedagogy and more about confidence transfer. When a student graduates from a TNE campus, the assumption is that employers will read the foreign brand as a marker of competence, bypassing the need to evaluate the Indian institution itself.
This addresses a real problem. Indian degrees often struggle for recognition abroad, and even domestically, hiring managers face genuine uncertainty about what a credential represents. TNE campuses promise to solve this by stamping international credibility onto Indian graduates.
But signalling without substance erodes quickly if outcomes disappoint. A foreign logo cannot compensate for weak learning, poor faculty preparation, or pedagogical habits that remain unchanged. If TNE campuses reproduce local practices under international branding, employers will notice. The signal will degrade. And the credibility gap will widen rather than close.
India’s real challenge is not importing signals – it is building the domestic infrastructure that makes signalling trustworthy in the first place. That means transparent accreditation, outcome tracking, and differentiation that allows genuine quality to be recognised and rewarded. Until those systems exist, TNE offers a temporary fix to a permanent problem.
The Pedagogical Gap: Classroom Culture, Not Curriculum
India’s challenge is not syllabi. Curricula can be updated, textbooks can be replaced, and course content can be aligned with international standards. The deeper problem is how learning is organised.
Too much of Indian higher education remains hierarchical in its classroom culture. Faculty lecture, students listen. Knowledge flows one way. Assessment rewards recall rather than reasoning. Questioning authority is uncomfortable. Seminar-style discussions are rare. Group work often means dividing tasks rather than collaborating on ideas. Failure is stigmatised, not treated as a necessary step in learning. Risk-averse students optimise for marks, not mastery.
TNE is implicitly being asked to model an alternative: discussion-led learning, formative assessment, student voice, and faculty-student intellectual parity. The hope is that exposure to international pedagogical norms will shift expectations – that students trained in critical inquiry will carry those habits forward, and that Indian institutions will adapt by observing what works.
But pedagogy does not travel automatically. It is shaped by institutional norms, faculty training, the physical setup of classrooms, and the expectations students bring from school into college. When international partners arrive, they encounter students conditioned to absorb, not interrogate. To fear mistakes rather than explore through them. To treat collaboration as efficiency rather than intellectual exchange.
Without deliberate redesign – faculty development programs, assessment reform, physical spaces that enable discussion, and institutional cultures that reward curiosity – TNE campuses risk reproducing local habits under foreign management. The branding changes. The substance does not. A classroom at a foreign branch campus in India can look remarkably similar to a traditional Indian lecture hall if the underlying culture of engagement remains unchanged.
Pedagogy is upstream of prestige. Until India takes classroom culture seriously – at scale, not just in elite pockets – internationalisation will remain cosmetic. TNE can demonstrate alternatives, but it cannot substitute for systemic investment in how teaching and learning actually happen.
The Faculty System Gap: Incentives and Autonomy
India struggles to build and sustain a world-class academic workforce. The symptoms are visible: difficulty hiring laterally at scale, weak mechanisms for rewarding performance, limited accountability for teaching quality or research productivity, and research careers confined to a few elite islands while the vast majority of faculty operate in teaching-only roles with minimal professional development.
The incentive structure is distorted. Permanence without performance is widespread. Once hired, tenure is nearly guaranteed, and exit is rare. Promotion depends on seniority and compliance with bureaucratic requirements rather than teaching impact or scholarly contribution. Research productivity is measured in published papers, but the structure rarely rewards genuine intellectual risk, interdisciplinary work, or deep engagement with students. Faculty mobility between institutions is limited. Institutional leaders lack the authority to hire, reward, or dismiss based on merit.
TNE is being used, in part, as a parallel faculty ecosystem. Foreign campuses operate on contracts instead of tenure. They set performance-linked expectations. They import international research norms. They operate under lighter bureaucratic control. In effect, they are controlled sandboxes where hiring, evaluation, and compensation follow different rules than the domestic system.
This allows TNE institutions to move faster, attract stronger faculty, and maintain quality without navigating the rigid constraints of India’s public university framework. It also creates visible contrasts that highlight what is possible when autonomy and accountability are balanced.
But parallel systems create resentment, not reform, if lessons are not absorbed back into the mainstream. If TNE campuses remain premium enclaves with no influence on domestic faculty norms, they become markers of what India cannot or will not fix. The gap between TNE and domestic institutions widens, stratification hardens, and systemic reform becomes even more politically fraught.
India needs to fix faculty incentives across the board. That means trusting institutions to hire and fire based on merit. It means rewarding teaching excellence and research productivity. It means enabling mobility, supporting mid-career development, and creating pathways for research-active faculty outside the IITs and a handful of central universities. Until that happens, TNE will remain an imported overlay rather than a lever for transformation.
The Outcomes Gap: Employability, Not Enrolment
India has expanded access to higher education faster than labour-market absorption. Millions of students graduate each year, but what is missing is tight coupling between degrees and jobs. Curricula remain disconnected from employer needs. Internship pipelines are weak or non-existent. Career pathways beyond the first job are unclear. Graduates carry credentials, but many struggle to convert them into stable, skill-appropriate employment.
This is not a problem TNE can solve on its own, but it is one TNE is expected to address. Foreign universities are assumed to bring multinational employer linkages, applied programs, internship infrastructure, and international hiring credibility. The implicit promise is conversion: students who pass through TNE campuses will have access to opportunities that domestic graduates do not.
There is some logic to this. International institutions often have established relationships with global employers. Their programs are designed with industry input. Their career services are professionalised. Their alumni networks span geographies and sectors. For students entering competitive fields – business, technology, engineering, design – these connections can matter.
But global employers do not hire at scale simply because a logo is present. Outcomes must be built, not assumed. Employer engagement requires sustained effort: curriculum co-design, structured internships, iterative feedback, and graduates who meet quality thresholds. If TNE campuses do not deliver on employability, the outcomes gap persists – only now with higher fees and greater expectations.
India’s deeper problem is that systematic tracking of employment, earnings, sectoral mobility, and career progression is weak. Institutions report placement percentages, but these are often inflated, narrowly defined, or unverified. Longitudinal data – tracking graduates five, ten, fifteen years after degree completion – is almost non-existent. Without this infrastructure, neither domestic programs nor TNE partnerships can be held accountable for outcomes.
India needs a national graduate outcomes framework: public, longitudinal, disaggregated by institution, program, and demographic background. This should inform funding, accreditation, student choice, and policy design. Until outcome data becomes central to how India evaluates higher education, both domestic reform and transnational partnerships will lack credibility. And without credibility, the outcomes gap will continue to widen.
The Governance Gap: Decision Velocity and Trust
Domestic reform in Indian higher education is slow because it is politically sensitive, administratively layered, and socially contested. Changes to admissions, reservations, fee structures, faculty appointments, and curriculum require navigating multiple ministries, regulatory bodies, state governments, and interest groups. Even modest reforms face delays. Bold reforms often stall entirely.
TNE offers a way to move faster in contained zones. Foreign campuses operate under different regulatory frameworks. They can experiment with admissions criteria, fee models, faculty contracts, and program structures without triggering system-wide debates. They signal reform intent without confronting entrenched interests. They allow policymakers to claim progress on internationalisation while avoiding the harder work of restructuring domestic institutions.
This is reform by exception, not transformation. TNE becomes a bypass rather than a model. It allows India to showcase pockets of global-standard education without addressing why those standards cannot be achieved domestically at scale.
The governance challenge is not insufficient regulation – it is too many overlapping authorities, each with partial jurisdiction and conflicting priorities. When international institutions attempt to establish a presence in India, they navigate a regulatory maze: approvals from multiple ministries, compliance with norms that vary by state and sector, uncertainty around fee structures, faculty qualifications, and degree recognition.
This opacity has consequences. When the rules are unclear or the process unpredictable, institutions hedge. They delay long-term investments. They limit the scope of what they offer. They stay low-profile to avoid regulatory attention. Some choose not to enter at all. Those that do often negotiate special exemptions, creating a fragmented landscape where each partnership operates under different terms.
Internationalisation works best in systems that are governable, predictable, and boring in the best sense of the word. Boring does not mean unambitious. It means that rules are clear, processes are transparent, timelines are known, and institutions can plan with confidence. It means that regulatory oversight focuses on outcomes – graduate employment, academic standards, ethical conduct – rather than micromanaging inputs like classroom hours or faculty titles.
India’s regulatory architecture needs simplification, not expansion. A single point of contact for international partnerships. Clear criteria for approval. Predictable timelines. Transparent fee policies. Straightforward recognition of degrees. These are not radical demands. They are the baseline conditions for serious institutional engagement.
Without governance clarity, TNE remains a privilege negotiated case-by-case rather than a systemic opportunity. Exceptions multiply without changing the core, leaving the system more fragmented rather than more functional.
The Aspiration Gap: Retaining Ambition at Home
Finally, there is a psychological gap. Hundreds of thousands of Indian students leave each year to study abroad – not always because domestic options are unavailable, but because “global” has become synonymous with departure. Families invest heavily in offshore education, driven by the belief that international degrees carry more weight, open more doors, and signal higher status.
India is trying to reverse this. It wants to reduce outbound student drain, keep aspiration anchored domestically, and convince families that global does not require departure. TNE campuses are meant to say: you can stay, and still be global. You can avoid visa uncertainty, reduce costs, remain close to family, and still access world-class education.
This is emotionally powerful – and politically attractive. It positions India as a destination, not just a source of students. It appeals to middle-class families seeking global credentials without the risks and costs of migration. It signals that India is confident enough to host the world’s best institutions, not just send students to them.
But if domestic outcomes lag behind offshore ones – if TNE graduates struggle to match the career trajectories of students who studied abroad – the aspiration gap widens rather than closes. Parents will notice. Students will compare. The narrative that staying home is equivalent to going abroad will lose credibility.
Aspiration cannot be managed through messaging alone. It must be earned through outcomes. TNE can help retain students domestically, but only if the quality, employability, and long-term mobility it offers are genuinely comparable to what students would gain abroad. Otherwise, TNE becomes a second-tier compromise rather than a first-choice alternative.
The Unifying Truth
India is using TNE to compensate for trust deficits – not knowledge deficits. Trust in degrees, classrooms, faculty systems, outcomes, and governance.
TNE can help demonstrate alternatives. It can model different pedagogies, governance structures, faculty norms, and outcome accountability. It can create visible contrasts that highlight what is possible when autonomy, incentives, and standards are aligned.
But it cannot substitute for systemic reform. Or put bluntly: India is asking TNE to do the work of reform without the pain of reform. That may buy time. It will not buy transformation.
The real test will be this: do lessons from TNE flow back into the Indian system – or remain quarantined as premium enclaves? If TNE campuses succeed but domestic institutions stagnate, India will have created a stratified system where quality is imported rather than built. If TNE experiments inform broader policy – shaping faculty norms, regulatory frameworks, outcome tracking, and pedagogical practice – it can serve as a bridge.
That answer will decide whether TNE becomes a catalyst for change or just another bypass around problems India has found too difficult to solve.
What India Must Fix First
Before TNE can matter in any durable way, India must address the foundational deficits that make it seem necessary. These are not glamorous fixes. They do not generate headlines or photo opportunities. They require patient work on classroom practice, faculty development, regulatory simplification, and data infrastructure. They demand differentiation, which means acknowledging that not all institutions will – or should – aim for the same goals. They require uncomfortable conversations about performance, accountability, and outcomes.
But without these fundamentals, internationalisation risks amplifying what already exists. If governance is weak, it magnifies weakness. If pedagogy is shallow, it scales shallowness. If outcomes are unclear, it raises the cost of uncertainty.
India has the scale, the talent, and the ambition to build a world-class higher education system. But scale without quality is just noise. Talent without structure is wasted potential. And ambition without execution is rhetoric.
Transnational education can matter. But only after India fixes what matters first.
I came across this post on LinkedIn, by Mr Sukh Sandhu, that rang so many bells and checked so many more boxes.
Mr Sandhu, your insistence on outcomes is spot on – and, as you would most certainly know, for India, this is not a new realisation. It’s a reminder.
Those of us who lived through India’s ambitious Skills Development push learned this lesson the hard way: enrolments are easy; outcomes are hard.
India trained millions. Certificates scaled. Partnerships flourished. But the system largely stopped counting at certification. What happened six months later, or two years later – wages, job stability, career progression – was treated as downstream noise rather than core design.
This is where Australia’s skills ecosystem, for all its flaws, offers instructive lessons. It is not more successful because it is better funded. It is more resilient because it has developed institutional memory. It measures attrition. It talks openly about completion failures. It analyses employer behaviour instead of assuming goodwill. And crucially, it accepts that outcomes are a shared responsibility, not something the market magically fixes after training ends.
India, by contrast, optimised for starts, not finishes.
Australian policymakers now obsess over what you aptly call the “long middle” – mentoring, workplace culture, supervision, cost of living, dignity of work – because they’ve learned that skills systems don’t fail at entry. They fail quietly through drop-off. India saw the same pattern, but never fully built this understanding into system design.
Another critical difference: employers. In India, employers were treated as beneficiaries. In Australia, they are (slowly, imperfectly) being repositioned as co-owners of the system. Without that shift, skills systems collapse once incentives disappear. We’ve seen that movie before.
So when we talk today about outcomes, employability, and workforce readiness, it’s worth remembering: India has already paid for this lesson once. The risk now is not ignorance – it’s amnesia.
Skills systems don’t collapse loudly. They erode trust quietly – one incomplete apprenticeship, one unused certificate, one disillusioned young person at a time. Australia learned that over decades. India learned it fast – and expensively.
The real question is whether we remember these lessons as we redesign the next phase of skills development in both our nations.
This is compulsion gaining voice. Here’s my penny’s worth on India’s transnational education (TNE) “experiment”. Drawing on first-hand experience within the higher education sector, I trace the rise of GIFT City and the broader push to host foreign universities in India – a policy landscape fuelled by ambition, consultancy, and contradiction.
I’ve watched this story build for nearly three decades: the promises, the paperwork, the PowerPoints. Each reform arrives dressed as revelation, each acronym sold as a portal to progress. And yet, the teacher’s desk remains the same – worn smooth by years of improvisation, resilience, and quiet hope.
What follows isn’t analysis in the academic sense. It’s a record of disquiet. A reflection by someone who has seen both the blueprints and the classrooms, who knows how easy it is for reform to mistake performance for progress.
India’s new transnational education wave isn’t merely a policy shift; it’s a mirror held up to our larger cultural condition – the tension between our hunger for global validation and our neglect of what’s already ours.
I. The Two Horizons: Promise and Proof
In official language, India’s transnational education (TNE) story is one of momentum. New campuses, new partnerships, new prestige. In reality, it’s a hesitant unfolding – a series of careful wagers disguised as triumphs.
At GIFT City, Deakin University and the University of Wollongong inaugurated India’s global experiment. Their first-year numbers told a quieter tale: 43 students at Deakin and 9 at Wollongong, against 3,500 expressions of interest. The ratio is almost poetic – curiosity in the thousands, conviction in the tens.
Still, these are the early pilgrims. GIFT’s own portal celebrates four operational universities – Deakin, Wollongong, Queen’s Belfast, and Coventry – with more “in the pipeline”. The University of Southampton in Gurugram and five new Letters of Intent for EduCity, Mumbai keep the headlines glowing.
The vision is grand, but the substance still delicate. These are pilots, not paradigms – small cohorts in rented offices, bound more by regulation than by imagination.
India is not yet a global classroom. It is still the world’s most ambitious testing ground.
II. The ROI Illusion
Deakin’s fees began at ₹22 lakh, later trimmed by 20–25% as a “market correction” to match Wollongong’s ₹16 lakh rate. The adjustment was less generosity than realism: Indian students are ROI-driven, not brand-blind. As another consultant notes, they measure value in employability, not prestige.
And that’s the paradox – the same globalisation that sells aspiration also breeds scepticism. Deakin’s first placement cycle saw roughly a quarter of its cohort find roles with the National Australia Bank’s (NAB) Innovation Centre in Gurugram. Encouraging, yes – but not yet evidence of sustainability.
Every player admits the early years will bleed red ink. The balance sheets are softened by hope and subsidised by parent campuses abroad. Reputational capital substitutes for profit in the interim.
Meanwhile, at home, an entire consultancy economy thrives: ₹1,200–₹1,500 crore annually in “internationalisation services,” compared to ₹250 crore for faculty development. The arithmetic of reform is clear – India spends five times more on talking about quality than on creating it.
Reform has become an industry. The PowerPoint precedes the pedagogy.
III. The Consultant Republic
Every reform breeds a class that profits from its complexity. In Indian higher education, that class now governs the conversation.
Behind every acronym – NEP, NIRF, ABC, GATI, NAAC 2.0 – stands a chorus of consultants, auditors, and branding firms. They draft the policy, interpret the language, conduct the workshops, and then bill for the audit. PwC, EY, Deloitte, EdCIL, the British Council’s TNE Advisory – all have a seat in this silent parliament of reform.
The arrangement is not corrupt; it’s elegant. Governments outsource vision, universities outsource conscience, and everyone calls it “capacity-building.”
Even GIFT City’s narrative gleams with that precision. A ₹450 crore International Branch Campus building, “industry-integrated education corridors,” “QS Top 500 eligibility” – the rhetoric is flawless, the vocabulary imported. But in all that talk of “ecosystems,” one figure is missing: the teacher.
When a teacher becomes a line item in an operational budget, the classroom becomes a service zone. The consultant republic has replaced the conscience of education with the calculus of deliverables.
IV. The Ambivalence of Arrival
The foreign university story is, by design, a performance of confidence. Media houses scream, albeit cautiously: “Degrees for Dollars”; “nine UK universities approved”; “planning to open soon.” Yet the on-ground total – fewer than sixty students in two years – tells a different story.
Over the next couple of years, the University of Southampton will have invested around £30 million in Gurugram. The Queen’s University Belfast has entered GIFT as the first Russell Group member. The University of York, Aberdeen, Illinois Tech, and Western Australia have LOIs pending for EduCity, Mumbai.
It looks like a movement. It feels like an illusion.
Because behind each announcement lies a quieter truth: classrooms that share co-working floors, courses confined to fintech, faculty flown in on rotation, and post-study promises still awaiting policy.
This is not deceit – it is dissonance. The dream is real, but the delivery still bureaucratic, experimental, improvised.
And yet – one must acknowledge the sincerity of those within it. The Deakin and Wollongong teams are not cynics; they are believers. I can say that from personal experience – having been part of several internationalisation efforts, including Deakin University’s own, since 1996. They are trying to do something difficult in a place where every reform collapses under its own paperwork. Their optimism deserves respect, even as the system surrounding them breeds fatigue.
V. The Quiet Reckoning
Every illusion ends the same way: not with scandal, but with indifference. When consultants move on, when vice-chancellors tire of new dashboards, when students stop attending webinars titled Global Pathways 3.0, silence will return – and perhaps, wisdom with it.
Because somewhere beyond the spreadsheets, the old classroom still endures: a teacher, a blackboard, a mind alight with curiosity. The policy may forget them, but education never will.
If India is to become a true global education hub, it will not be built by incentives or tax waivers. It will be built by those who still believe that learning is not a service but a conversation. Reform, in the end, is not about alignment or accreditation. It is about the courage to keep faith – to remember that the glass towers will fade, but the chalk dust remains.
