A month ago, a major accident took place at Delhi's Rau IAS coaching center. During heavy rains, water flooded the basement library, leading to the death of three students. Following the incident, the MCD sealed many libraries in coaching centers. Some were shut down due to the lack of a fire NOC. Students are now in distress, with dreams and significant investments at stake.
One student shared, "I only rented the room to sleep. I spent my entire day and evening at the library. It had AC and a conducive atmosphere. Now, I either have to return home or learn to study in a windowless room. Studying in the basement is dangerous! You've lost three of your friends there. Basements aren't just used for libraries! Many have PGs in their basements, often without contracts. If something happens, no one would even know. Voices drown in the rain, just like soap dissolves.
A month after the accident on July 27, we arrived at Old Rajendra Nagar. Upon reaching the Rau coaching center, it started raining, almost as if nature itself was recreating the scene. In less than half an hour, the roads were filled with 2.5 to 3 feet of water. Bikes were submerged, and cars were half-drowned. To save myself, I took shelter at a nearby coaching center.
Even here, the basement was sealed. The front iron gate was firmly shut. Two guards repeatedly checked the pump. Despite their efforts, water was steadily entering through small openings at the sides of the gate.
Soon, water began to accumulate in the parking space. Pointing at it, a center employee said, "The same happened next door. If water can enter through a closed gate, imagine what would happen if it were open!
Source: aajtak
Running a library in the basement was wrong! The student countered, "Where is it not happening? Students got a good reading space at a low cost. It was safe too. It was operational for years, without any accidents. It was bound to happen. MCD is also at fault. It rains every year and the situation remains the same. They should take action too. We're paying high rents; how can we leave the space unused? The roads are still being dug up.
While sitting on the dry steps away from the water, a staff member displayed a careless attitude.
We met with a student who has been preparing for two years. On the condition of anonymity, he said, "Adaptation." After the library was sealed post-accident, we learned to manage with whatever we had. Rooms are small, it's hot, and the environment isn't conducive to studying. There's only one fan, and it makes noise during power cuts. The landlord complains when friends visit. But we are learning to study like this. Those who can't manage are returning home.
And you? I'll wait. If the libraries don't reopen in a month, some other arrangement will be made. Coaching centers have taken year-long fees for reading spaces; they wouldn't want to tarnish their names.
The administration officer of an old coaching institute said, "If we didn't support the students, many would have harmed themselves. Especially those from small towns were under immense pressure. We accommodated them and currently aren't charging them anything.
While sipping coffee leisurely, the administrative head refused to comment on camera, saying, "We do it for welfare, not for advertisement.
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Meanwhile, a student from Rau's completely refuted the claim. He said, "It's like how elite schools give a few seats to underprivileged students for show; they don't care about them. That's the treatment we're getting here.
Are they not teaching you? Classes are being held, but there's pressure to pay fees soon.
Many students come here to prepare for civil services but end up being ad promoters for coaching institutes. Yes, as you walk past the coaching centers, you'll be approached by small groups promising to guide you to the best institute. In Old Rajendra Nagar, these boys are known as marketing executives, while in Mukherjee Nagar, they are called promoters.
Their job is to bring in inquiries, that is, to lead prospective clients like me to the coaching center. They earn ₹50 per inquiry.
These boys, who arrived in Delhi with dreams of becoming IAS officers, watched their dreams turn into a jungle of need within a year or two. One such promoter, Sunil, shares, "We came to study, but the fees were so high that we couldn't join. Managed for a month or two, then had to look for work. Started with distributing pamphlets for coaching centers. Got a gig as a guard at a girls' PG in between. Now, we bring in inquiries for coaching centers. ₹50 for every person brought in. Some old-timers even get a salary.
Source: aajtak
How much do you earn? I'm not a permanent employee. I have a target. Two days ago, I didn't earn a single rupee. Yesterday, I earned ₹50. So far, I haven't brought in any inquiries today. You're filming now.
Has working affected your studies? No, why would it? I took this job for my studies. Night guard duty is fine. It allows time for both day and night study sessions. I also created a YouTube channel to earn extra money. I share tips on how village boys can prepare for IAS while working. Subscribers are increasing. Once watch time increases, I'll start earning from the channel. Sunil from a remote UP village speaks like a professional. Why don't you return home and study? I offer unsolicited advice. How can I? I've been here for four years. Returning would invite relentless taunts. Even during holidays, I can't stay home long. There's pressure to earn money even at the cost of dreams.
As potential inquiries roam the streets, Sunil politely requests, "You aren't an inquiry, please subscribe to our YouTube channel instead.
Source: aajtak
Heading further into Mukherjee Nagar, a residential area, you still see significant marks left by coaching institutes. Shops filled with books and magazines, tea stalls run by people just as informed as future IAS officers. Old buildings more covered with posters than paint. And amidst it all, students anonymously working towards their dreams.
Libraries operate here too. The only difference is they’re on floors rather than basements.
p>We enter one such library. Climbing stairs for high jump competitions, we meet Kanhaiya Kumar from Godda, Jharkhand. He works from 9 AM to 8 PM in the library and then studies there for the next five hours. What about sleep? I didn't come this far to sleep. I've cleared the prelims twice. Now, I'm preparing for the mains.
Busy Kanhaiya talks to us in his office, just enough space for a chair and a stool, with a CCTV screen. He oversees the library from here. This job isn't demanding. You sit in the office and monitor via CCTV. Arrange the seats if needed. Then, you keep studying. That's why I took this job. My aim is to clear the exam this time.
Don't you take coaching? No, most students after 6 months of coaching turn to self-study in libraries.
Why libraries then? Why not study at home? The rooms here aren't fit to be called home. A grown person can't even stretch their legs to sleep. Rooms lack windows and ventilation, making children anxious and driving them to these reading spaces. Seeing others study keeps them motivated.
In Old Rajendra Nagar or Mukherjee Nagar, a library is not for borrowing books, but for securing a reading space.
Here, you find small cubicles with a bulb on each desk. These places operate 24/7. With biometric systems in place, no need for them to be affiliated with a coaching center. In Mukherjee Nagar, several people rent a floor of a building and turn it into a library. You pay by the hour, month, or year, based on how many hours you plan to avail. Night rates are the lowest, leading many students to study at night.
Though not in basements, these libraries too are in a miserable state. Narrow spaces make it difficult to move between lines. With one door for entry and exit, dark and steep stairs, escaping during an emergency would be tough.
Every library's main door shows a fire extinguisher. Notice board instructions are faded, but the extinguisher is new and shiny.
Among the odd old buildings and scrap paper-smelling areas, you find countless stories of failures and successes.
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In the pursuit of such a story, we reach a narrow alley. Trash piles up in front of houses. Mucky drains reek in the rain. The mixed smell of fresh food and filth. And sheer darkness. On the first floor lives a youth recently selected for IRS. In a tiny room, there’s a crowd of same-aged visitors.
He says, "Training starts in November, but I'm also preparing for IAS. If I succeed, all these hardships will end—living in rat-trap rooms, eating because I must, constant restlessness. Visitors share looks of admiration and envy.
