In the grand theater of India’s educational transformation, technology has taken center stage. Ed-tech platforms, armed with slick interfaces, aggressive marketing budgets, and promises of democratization, have swept into the public imagination as the great equalizers of our time. They claim to level the playing field, to bridge the chasm between privilege and possibility.
But beneath the varnish lies a question that’s rarely asked with sincerity: has the quality of education actually improved?
The emergence of monopolistic tendencies in the ed-tech sector is not a uniquely Indian story. It echoes the fate of many industries where a promising startup is acquired, absorbed, and ultimately shelved by a larger player. It is a playbook that rewards consolidation, not innovation. In retail, perhaps, such mergers offer scale. In education, the costs are more human—and far more permanent.
Peter Thiel, in his canonical Zero to One, outlines four classic paths to monopoly: a defensible brand (Apple), technological superiority (Google), network effects (Facebook), and economies of scale (Amazon). These models, each in their own way, transformed industries by offering real value. But education is not software. A child’s understanding of trigonometry or a young adult’s grasp of ethics cannot be engineered at scale, nor resolved through data analytics alone.
Education, at its core, remains a deeply human exchange.
It requires not only knowledge but presence. Not just curriculum, but care. It is, fundamentally, a relationship. And this is precisely where the ed-tech sector—fueled by venture capital and venture ambition—has faltered. By chasing exponential growth, these firms have invested overwhelmingly in sales and marketing, while allocating a fraction of their resources to what should be the very heart of their enterprise: the teacher.
A cursory glance at balance sheets—where available—reveals a troubling truth. As much as 70 to 80 percent of expenditure in major ed-tech firms is funneled into user acquisition, not academic excellence. The teacher, that indispensable engine of intellectual awakening, has been pushed to the periphery—treated not as a pillar, but a line item. When corners are cut, they are cut closest to the classroom.
And yet, we know this to be counterproductive. Neuroscience, psychology, and centuries of pedagogical tradition affirm a simple reality: humans learn best from other humans. The act of teaching is not mere instruction—it is mimicry, modeling, mentorship. The human brain responds most deeply to emotion, story, and the presence of another thinking mind. Concepts are not just absorbed; they are witnessed, interrogated, internalized. This is not a bug in our biology—it is the feature.
Moreover, teaching is one of the most cognitively demanding acts a human can perform. The so-called “protégé effect” tells us that people understand ideas more fully when they prepare to teach them to others. Teaching transforms both the learner and the instructor. It sharpens intellect, deepens empathy, and fosters clarity. To undervalue teaching is not only unjust—it is intellectually dishonest.
So where does this leave us?
It brings us back to a singular, radical proposition: pay teachers well.
Not as a token gesture, not as part of a CSR initiative, but as the central philosophy around which any serious attempt at educational reform must revolve. A well-paid teacher is not simply a more comfortable one; they are a more empowered one. Compensation signals value. When we elevate teaching as a prestigious, intellectually rewarding, and financially sustainable profession, we attract the brightest minds. We retain experience. We foster innovation.
And most importantly, we create an ecosystem where quality is no longer an accident—it becomes the norm.
This is not an argument against technology. Used wisely, platforms like YouTube or Khan Academy prove that scale and substance can coexist. But the platforms that will endure—the ones that will truly transform—are those that understand their role not as replacements, but as reinforcers of the teacher-student relationship.
The danger of the current ed-tech trajectory is not that it uses technology, but that it reduces education to a transaction. It replaces mentorship with metrics. It elevates marketing above meaning.
The illusion must be punctured.
India does not need more celebrity-endorsed apps. It needs a generation of well-trained, well-respected, and well-compensated educators who can meet students not just where they are—but where they could be. That transformation does not begin in a boardroom or a product sprint. It begins in the classroom, with a teacher who is valued enough to stay.
If we truly want to transform Indian education, we must start with the most obvious—and most overlooked—truth: great teachers build great nations. All else is commentary.
