“The 99% Illusion: Rethinking Cut-Off Culture in Indian Education“
By Dr. Kiran Jeevan
There is something disquieting about the trajectory of higher education in India today. With every admission season comes the familiar frenzy over soaring cut-offs-95%, 98%, 99%, and, increasingly, a perfect 100%. These figures are not merely benchmarks, they have become symbols of prestige, celebrated and pursued with near-obsessive intensity. Yet, beneath this fixation lies a question that remains largely unaddressed: what, truly, is the purpose of education?
As a student, I once heard a Jesuit priest, Father Ambrose, pose a simple yet profound question: “Education is not for the toppers-they will find their way. But what about the rest?” At the time, its significance escaped me. Today, it resonates deeply, exposing a fundamental ethical gap in our education system.
By contemporary standards, I was an average student, scoring between 65% and 70%. In today’s climate, such marks would likely shut the doors of many reputed institutions. Yet, I went on to build a meaningful career and life. This is not an exception, but a reminder that human potential cannot be compressed into a number on a marks card.
What we are witnessing now is not merely the pursuit of excellence, but a systemic overvaluation of percentages. Institutions, driven by rankings and perception, project high cut-offs as indicators of quality. Frameworks like national rankings reinforce this narrative, creating a self-perpetuating cycle: higher cut-offs attract more applicants, which in turn inflate the thresholds further.
This raises an uncomfortable question. When access to quality education is determined by narrow numerical filters, what becomes of the vast majority who fall short? Are they inherently less capable, or are they simply victims of a limited evaluative framework?
A significant proportion of students-those scoring 60%, 70%, or even 80%-find themselves excluded from institutions that claim to represent excellence. This exclusion is not merely institutional, it is deeply personal. Over time, students internalise these rejections, equating marks with self-worth, scaling down ambitions, and questioning their abilities. What begins as an academic metric becomes a psychological burden.
The consequences are visible. Reports from national agencies and global health bodies have consistently pointed to rising mental health concerns among students, many linked to academic stress and performance anxiety. When education turns into relentless competition, it ceases to nurture growth and instead breeds fear.
At a broader level, this narrow definition of merit comes at a national cost. India, with its vast demographic diversity, cannot afford to overlook talent that does not conform to exam-centric evaluation. Qualities such as creativity, resilience, leadership, and innovation-crucial for societal progress-are rarely reflected in board percentages. Often, they emerge from individuals who have navigated challenges and setbacks.
This brings us back to the central question: what is higher education meant to achieve? Is it a reward mechanism for those who excel in examinations, or a transformative space that nurtures potential and fosters critical thinking? If it is the latter, then the current obsession with cut-offs represents a serious distortion.
Education, at its core, must be inclusive. It should open doors, not close them. It must recognise potential in varied forms, rather than dismiss it through rigid numerical thresholds. When institutions prioritise cut-offs over capability, education risks becoming transactional rather than transformative.
There is also an underlying reality that merits attention. The race for higher cut-offs is often less about academic integrity and more about institutional positioning. In an increasingly competitive landscape, high entry thresholds create an illusion of excellence. But excellence that excludes is, at best, selective filtering-and at worst, a failure of educational responsibility.
The issue is not whether high achievers deserve recognition-they undoubtedly do. The concern is whether the system should be structured primarily around them, sidelining the majority. When access to education is limited to those who already excel, it ceases to be a vehicle for social mobility and instead reinforces existing inequalities.
Father Ambrose’s question remains as relevant as ever: “What about the rest?” The “rest” are not a marginal group-they are the majority. They are students with aspirations, abilities, and the potential to contribute meaningfully, if only given the opportunity.
My own journey is a modest testament to this truth. What shaped my path was not a percentage, but the chance to learn, grow, and be trusted.
If we are serious about the future of education in this country, we must move beyond this narrow fixation on marks. We must reimagine institutions as spaces that value potential alongside performance, that embrace diversity in ability, and that recognise success cannot be standardised.
In the end, the strength of an education system is not measured by how it serves its toppers, but by how many lives it empowers.
Until we confront that honestly, the question will persist, if education is only for the toppers, what becomes of the rest?
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