Dreams for Sale: The Heavy Price of an IIT Tag 

This feature article explores the hidden mental health crisis behind the prestigious facade of India’s Indian Institutes of Technology (IITs), where at least 160 student suicides have occurred in the past two decades—69 in the last five years alone. Through the devastating personal stories of families like Sanjay Nerkar, who lost his son Varad to suicide at IIT-Delhi in 2024, and Ramesh Solanki, whose Dalit son Darshan died at IIT-Bombay amid alleged caste-based harassment, the piece reveals how the immense pressure to succeed, fears over placement failures affecting nearly 38% of graduates, toxic power dynamics between PhD scholars and supervisors, and systemic institutional avoidance of accountability combine to create an unbearable environment for students.

While IITs celebrate producing global CEOs and billionaires, the article argues that the institutions consistently deflect responsibility—blaming personal issues or individual weakness—rather than addressing the structural failures, toxic hierarchies, and discrimination that push brilliant young people toward tragedy, leaving grieving families and a urgent question: whether India’s finest technical institutions are willing to become humane enough to save the students who enter their gates.

Dreams for Sale: The Heavy Price of an IIT Tag 

The evening call never comes. For Sanjay Nerkar, returning home to Nashik after a long day, the silence at dusk is a physical weight. For nearly a decade, it was the anchor of his day—the ringing phone, and his son Varad’s voice on the other end. “Papa, bas awaaz sunni thi.” Just wanted to hear your voice. 

That voice went silent on February 15, 2024. Varad, a 26-year-old MTech student at the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) Delhi, died by suicide. He had finally achieved the dream he had nurtured since childhood: a seat in India’s most prestigious engineering institution. For his family, it was the pinnacle of success. For Varad, it became an unbearable pinnacle of pressure. 

His story is not an outlier. It is a devastatingly common narrative that has become the dark, often whispered-about underbelly of India’s academic crown jewels. The IITs produce global CEOs and billionaires, but they are also producing a trail of grief. According to data compiled by alumni groups and activists, at least 160 students have died by suicide across the IIT system in the last two decades. A staggering 69 of those deaths have occurred in the last five years alone. 

This is not a story of flawed individuals. It is the story of a flawed system—a pressure cooker where academic excellence, social prestige, and institutional neglect combine to create a mental health crisis of alarming proportions. 

The Fulfillment of a Dream 

To understand the tragedy, one must first understand the dream. In India, the IIT is not merely a college; it is a cultural phenomenon. Every year, over a million students sit for the Joint Entrance Examination (JEE) Main. Less than 20% qualify for the next round, JEE Advanced, to compete for a mere 18,000 undergraduate seats across 23 campuses. The odds are staggering—roughly one in 72 makes it. 

For a student like Varad, or Darshan Solanki, a 20-year-old from a plumbing family in Ahmedabad, cracking the IIT is a family project. It is a bet placed on education as the ultimate social and economic elevator. When Darshan finally secured admission to IIT-Bombay in 2023 after two attempts, his father, Ramesh, a plumber, wept. “That was the happiest day of my life,” Ramesh recalls. “He told me, ‘Papa, I have done it. Our life now will become easier.’” 

The IIT tag carries the weight of a billion aspirations. It promises a life beyond the daily grind—a high-paying job, global respect, and the chance to lift an entire family out of struggle. But what happens when the reality of the institution clashes with the mythology surrounding it? 

The Cracks in the Ivory Tower 

The narrative sold to students and their families is one of unbridled success. IITs publicize record-breaking salary packages—the coveted dollar salaries from Silicon Valley, the offers from multinational banks and consultancies. But this glossy brochure hides a more complex and often brutal reality. 

In 2024, data from the IITs themselves revealed that nearly 38% of graduates remained unplaced. For students who have spent years in grueling coaching classes and sacrificed their adolescence for a single goal, this uncertainty is a psychological earthquake. 

“IITs publicize top placements but seldom talk about the other side,” says Dheeraj Singh, founder of the Global IIT-IIM Alumni Support Group. “When academic pressure combines with the very real fear of placement failure, the situation becomes critical.” Singh recalls a student from IIT-Kanpur who reached out in desperation. His message was chilling: “If I don’t get placed, I will end my life.” Despite the group’s intervention, he later died by suicide. The fear of failure, in a system that only celebrates success, becomes a death sentence. 

For doctoral students, the pressure is institutionalized. The relationship between a PhD scholar and their supervisor is often described as feudal. The supervisor holds the keys to the thesis, the fellowship, and the student’s future. Fellowships typically last five years, and with no safety net beyond that, the anxiety intensifies. 

“The supervisor controls everything,” explains Sushant, a doctoral student at IIT-Kanpur who requested anonymity. “Whether your thesis is approved, whether you get your degree—it all depends on one person. Many supervisors are toxic. They know you are trapped. This isn’t just stress; it’s a traumatizing power imbalance.” The recent announcement that PhD scholars who fail to complete their thesis within seven years could face termination has only added to the existential dread. 

The case of Ramswroop Ishram at IIT-Kanpur is a haunting example. In January of this year, the PhD scholar died by suicide in the hostel room he shared with his wife and two-year-old daughter. His death was not just a personal tragedy but a systemic indictment. Students protested the same night, demanding answers. None came. 

A Crisis of Accountability 

When a student dies, the institutional response is often a masterclass in deflection. Dheeraj Singh has observed a pattern: If the student was performing well academically, the suicide is blamed on “personal issues”—a troubled relationship or family dispute. If the student was struggling, it is attributed to an inability to handle the “rigorous competition.” 

In both narratives, the institution absolves itself. The focus remains firmly on the individual’s perceived weakness, never on the structural pressures that broke them. 

This avoidance of accountability is perhaps most stark in cases involving caste. Darshan Solanki, the 20-year-old from a Dalit family, died by suicide at IIT-Bombay in February 2023. His father alleges that Darshan was tormented by caste-based ridicule from his peers, including his roommate. “We belong to a lower caste,” Ramesh Solanki says, his voice thick with grief and anger. “The humiliation affected my son deeply, and then came the academic pressure. How can a 20-year-old bear both?” 

Government data reveals a disturbing trend: between 2014 and 2021, students from marginalized castes (Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, and Other Backward Classes) accounted for nearly 55% of student suicides at central educational institutions, despite being a minority on campus. For students who have fought both academic and social battles to reach the IIT, the persistence of discrimination within its halls is a devastating betrayal of the meritocratic ideal. 

The Silence and the Scream 

The IITs are not entirely unaware of the problem. Most campuses have counselling centers. But experts argue that the response is woefully inadequate. Dr. Aqsa Sheikh, a member of the National Task Force on Student Suicide Prevention, points out that students in severe distress are the least likely to seek help. “Institutions must identify them and make the first move,” she says. “There has to be proactive intervention, not just reactive counselling.” 

The task force, headed by former Supreme Court judge S. Ravindra Bhat, was set up a year ago to create a uniform framework for mental health in higher education. Bhat describes the situation as “deeply troubling,” acknowledging that the crisis is rooted in both broader social realities and specific institutional failures. But a year on, families like the Nerkars and Solankis are still waiting for change. 

What does proactive intervention look like? It means questioning the toxic supervisor, not just the student’s resilience. It means creating anonymous reporting mechanisms for caste-based harassment that are actually effective. It means acknowledging that a 38% unplaced rate is not just an economic statistic but a mental health emergency. It means dismantling the culture where a student’s worth is measured solely by their grade point average or salary package. 

A Father’s Wait 

Back in Nashik, Sanjay Nerkar continues his daily ritual. He returns from work, and for a fleeting moment, he expects the phone to ring. He knows it won’t. Varad, his son, the one who called just to hear his father’s voice, is gone. 

Varad had complained to his mother about intense academic pressure and alleged harassment from his supervisor in the days before his death. The IIT-Delhi administration termed his death a suicide, a matter of personal tragedy. 

For Sanjay, the distinction is meaningless. “If I had known what IIT-Delhi would take away from me, I would never have sent him,” he says, his voice breaking. 

The IITs continue to produce billionaires and CEOs. Their convocations are celebrations of human potential. But in the quiet homes of Nashik and Ahmedabad, in the cramped hostels of Kanpur and Delhi, another, quieter story is being written. It is a story of brilliant, driven young people who walked through the hallowed gates of India’s finest institutions, only to find that the dream they were sold came with a price they could not afford to pay. The question that haunts these corridors is not whether the students are strong enough for the IITs, but whether the IITs are humane enough for their students. And for the fathers waiting for phone calls that will never come, the answer is a silence that speaks volumes.