The Child Needed an Adult. We Were All Busy.

The Report Card We Never Read.

Every time a student dies by suicide after NEET, JEE or any other competitive examination, the country reacts predictably. Television studios erupt. Social media demands accountability. Politicians blame examination agencies. Parents blame the system. Coaching institutes defend themselves.

Everyone searches for a villain.

Competition is not new. Every generation has faced intense competition for limited seats in medical colleges, engineering institutions, or government jobs. Even student suicides are not a recent phenomenon. The difference today is that social media brings every tragedy into our living rooms within minutes. While that visibility is important, it should also force us to ask a deeper question:

Who failed the child long before the examination hall did?

Calls to abolish NEET miss the larger issue. Remove NEET today and another selection process will replace it tomorrow. Competition is inevitable. Paper leaks and administrative failures deserve criticism, but they are not the whole story. A student rarely reaches breaking point because of one examination. Breaking points are built over months and years through relentless pressure, silence, unrealistic expectations and the belief that one rank will determine an entire life's worth.

The first accountability lies at home.

Most parents know their child's favourite food, favourite colour, clothing preferences and social circle. They monitor friendships, screen time and sometimes even whom the child should speak to. Yet many cannot honestly answer one question: 

Does my child truly have the aptitude, temperament and sustained discipline needed for this career?
Dreaming big for a child is admirable. Refusing to recognise the child's limitations is not. 

A second NEET attempt after a narrow miss is understandable. Occasionally, even a third may be justified. But when families spend years and lakhs of rupees chasing a fourth, fifth or sixth attempt, determination can quietly become denial.

Every child cannot become a doctor or an IIT engineer. That is not failure; it is reality.

Parents often say after a tragedy, 'We never knew.' Children do not always ask for help in words. They ask through withdrawal, irritability, anxiety, disturbed sleep, falling confidence and emotional exhaustion. If parents can recognise fever without a thermometer, they should also learn to recognise emotional distress without waiting for a confession.

Secondly,  Schools Must Stop Treating Counselling as a Formality

Every CBSE and reputed private school proudly mentions that it has a school counsellor. But if counselling systems are working, why are school-related mental health crises still increasing?

The answer is uncomfortable.

In many schools, counsellors are overloaded with administrative work that has little to do with mental health. Their offices are often tucked away at the far end of the campus. A distressed student has to walk across half the school, worried that classmates will notice and start gossiping. Worse still, visiting the counsellor is often seen as a punishment rather than a safe space to unburden oneself.

Many schools advertise vacancies for counsellors under "administrative staff" with salaries that barely reflect the importance of their role. When we underpay mental health professionals, overburden them with clerical duties, and deny them independence, we should not be surprised when students slip through the cracks. Mental health cannot be reduced to an accreditation requirement. It has to become part of a school's culture.

Then comes our extended family and society.

Relatives have opinions about every decision. Neighbours know which coaching institute a child attends. Uncles and aunties freely compare marks, ranks, colleges, and careers. 

A neighbour may rush to tell parents that their daughter was seen talking to a boy.

But how many neighbours have ever said,

"Your child looks exhausted. Maybe reduce the pressure."

How many relatives call simply to encourage a child before an examination without asking about marks? How many members of our so-called samaj or kutumb stand beside a family when a child is battling anxiety, depression, or self-doubt? Society contributes generously to expectations but sparingly to emotional support.

I believe the responsibility for every student suicide lies with all of us. 

Parents, schools, examination authorities, governments and society each have a role to play. While not every parent is emotionally available to their child because of work, lack of awareness or social barriers, fathers continue to see themselves primarily as providers rather than emotional participants. They work hard and protect, but conversations about fear, failure, and emotional struggles are often left to mothers. 

Mothers, in turn, may hesitate to acknowledge that their child is struggling—not out of indifference, but because admitting it can feel like admitting they failed as parents. 

Some fear judgement from relatives, while others cling to the hope that "things will get better on their own."In some families, a parent may become so emotionally invested in a child's achievements that the child's success begins to define the parent's own sense of worth. In such situations, acknowledging the child's limitations or emotional distress becomes particularly difficult, because it threatens the parent's identity as much as the child's ambitions.

We don't have an examination crisis.

We have an adult accountability crisis.

Until homes become emotionally safer, schools treat counselling as seriously as academics, and parents learn to recognise distress before disappointment...

We will keep changing examination policies while continuing to lose children.