As a child, I was given quite an unusual piece of advice by my parents regarding my career choices. When the time came to select my subjects in high school and later in college, my mother, with her gentle wisdom, said, "Study what you want." My father, standing firm beside her, echoed her sentiment but added his own pragmatism: "Study what you want, but make sure you earn your degree." In a country like India, this was a strangely bold and forward-thinking piece of advice to give a child on the cusp of choosing a career path. Most of my peers were steered toward careers that promised good earning prospects, stability, and societal respect. Broadly speaking, the only careers that met these criteria were engineering, medicine, law or public service. It was, and often still is, believed that any other field was for those who couldn’t achieve the marks to pursue these esteemed professions. At this juncture, let me be clear — I believe it is wise and practical advice to steer a child toward these professions. Most of the people I work with, and many of my friends, studied these very subjects. Today, they enjoy well-paying, respectable, and stable careers in the private or government sectors. One undeniable advantage of choosing these fields is the likelihood of securing a job immediately after completing your course. This isn't the case if, for instance, you're a history or an English major, as I am. For us, the path is longer and more winding: a master's degree, perhaps even a PhD, a teaching credential, numerous internships, and other hurdles before landing a job. India stands apart from many Western nations in that nearly everyone pursues a college education, at least earning a bachelor's degree. This holds true even for those hailing from villages or impoverished backgrounds, as tuition fees at government colleges in one’s home state are often negligible—unless, of course, one aims for the top institutions. Whether the degree carries any real value is a different story altogether. I’ve encountered engineering graduates who struggle with the simplest math, history majors who are oblivious to India’s past before the Mughal era, and political science graduates who seem to believe Lenin was really onto something. To add to the confusion, a host of so-called pseudo-disciplines, like queer studies, have emerged—though this was not the case during my school days. Back then, such courses existed, but garnered little serious interest from those dedicated to genuine education or any pursuit of significance. Without a college education, one might turn to a trade or find work in sectors where skilled labour is unnecessary, like waitressing at a McDonald's or bagging groceries at the local supermarket. Yet, in a society that venerates education, such jobs carry little respect. Many of my friends who studied abroad held these positions alongside their degrees, but to do the same in India would be unthinkable for them. Another significant drawback is that as degrees become as common as buttons, you encounter bricklayers and janitors who proudly declare themselves to be engineering graduates, adding to the tangled fabric of expectations and reality. These are still less obvious drawbacks. My mother’s advice, though well-intentioned, felt a touch unrealistic and impractical, especially in my early twenties when the notion of "follow your passion" clashed with my responsibility to provide for a dependent parent. I have wavered in my assessment of that guidance throughout my life, yet I would be less than truthful if I claimed it brought me no benefit at all. When you’re encouraged to pursue what you want in a profession, you don’t shut the door on the myriad opportunities that so many of my peers did, all because they were told they were destined for greater things. I watched countless friends spend their twenties chasing after competitive exams—truly competitive in India—year after year, clinging to the hope of landing that perfect government job. Others poured their fortunes into one degree after another, emerging from college burdened with loans the day they graduated. Even when they found success, the race was never over. They secured good jobs yet remained perpetually on the lookout for something better, updating their CVs every few months. Many poured their time, money, and energy into self-improvement, and still remained unsatisfied, boosting their self esteem by one upping their friends at Saturday night parties. The ones who were unsuccessful often redefined success as survival, and confused status security with financial security. They genuinely believe they are fighting for their existence, despite the ease with which an engineering degree can land them a job. Even a humanities degree can open doors if approached wisely. Yet, some remain unemployed for a decade, holding the right degrees and connections from college, all while grappling with paralysing anxiety about their financial future. For them, taking a regular job in a smaller company or exploring freelance work isn’t even on the table. I’ve never shared that sentiment. I’ve always felt surrounded by endless options and opportunities, despite having just one degree in the humanities. When they do take temporary work to make ends meet while pursuing their dreams, they intentionally underperform, afraid to shift their goals and lose sight of what they truly desire. My father’s words carried weight as well. He often reminded me that one must earn even what is given by birthright. Rights come not as gifts but through the burden of responsibilities. Citizenship is a privilege earned through service and adherence to the laws of the land. He impressed upon me that if I held a degree—any degree—it should represent the knowledge I had truly acquired. I should have studied deeply enough to claim that title with integrity. "Educating yourself is your responsibility," he would say, "whether we're footing the bill for your tuition or the state is paying your teachers." His principle was clear: never accept anything without earning it. A friend of mine once said, “Right now, we’re all in school together. We laugh at the same jokes, we share our lunches, we pass notes in class. But once we graduate, we may find ourselves in entirely different economic classes. One day, you might be in the top 1%, while I’m struggling in the lower middle class, and we may not even recognize each other. Even if we do, even if we remain friends, our lives will be so different that we won’t relate to each other at all.” Her words linger in my mind still.
