The entry of Union cabinet minister Anurag Thakur is marked by a convoy — not of cars, but horses — ‘steered’ by serious looking boys, wearing sherwanis and safas. After a series of showjumps met with measured applause, a polo match commences. “Mayo College is the nursery for Indian polo,” the commentator, a teacher, declares. The school is on display, and its students are performers.
Equestrian events and polo matches are old world symbols of wealth ––associated with boarding schools that have stood the test of time. Being a graduate is a lifelong accessory, a solid LinkedIn network in and of itself. “There’s a certain grandeur [that comes with the tag],” said Sameer Dhingra, president of the Doon School Old Boys Society (DSOBS).
There’s an allure that surrounds boarding schools in India. Lush campuses, imposing colonial-era facades, sprawling sports grounds — and the popular belief that they ‘build character’. But these bastions of old money are facing a new threat. Wealthy, five-star-like schools—from Shri Ram, Vasant Valley, Mallya Aditi, to Ecole Mondiale and Dhirubhai Ambani—are springing up everywhere and eroding the mystique of boarding schools.
They are catering to new power networks that have changed the face of privilege unrecognisably. First, the economy changed, then the politics. Together, it has birthed a new elite. It began with the burgeoning of new money three decades ago and has only deepened now with the rise of a non-English medium Indian.
In the age of helicopter parenting, priorities are different and legacy boarding schools are in danger of losing their hold over India’s elite. Understated wealth seen in the likes of Mayo and Doon is being pitted against the flash and the flamboyance of the newer ones.
Pathways, established in 2003, which refers to itself as the No.1 international school chain in India, and G.D. Goenka World School — both of which have campuses on the periphery of Gurgaon — represent the watering down of boarding school culture. The week is spent away at school, and the weekends at home. Consequently, boarding school values, which are supposedly all about equality, are not imbibed. And that’s not a problem for the new power elite.
“I felt everyone was cooler than me and knew a lot more. The exposure they had, compared to mine, was immense,” said a Pathways alumnus, who belongs to the hilly terrain of Kullu, Himachal Pradesh, and moved to Gurgaon for its educational opportunity.
The explosion of conveniently located international schools is pushing the old boarding schools to adapt, such as by offering the Cambridge curriculum. But at the same time, they’re also comfortable resting on laurels. In September, without much warning, Doon announced it was scrapping the International Baccalaureate (IB board), and would now go back to only offering ICSE. Even so, it remains highly selective. Between 700 and 800 students sit for the entrance exam every year, and about 90 are admitted into the school.
Even as the new strives to replace the old, the former struggles with its inexperience. The old’s reputation is loud and unmissable, and for the most part, a secret nod of acceptance finds its way through elite networks.
It’s a reputation that has been bolstered by illustrious alumni, swift and ever-ready to declare their roots. Generations of politicians and ‘maharajas’ have been nurtured at these schools. From the Gandhis to the Scindias, Doon was where political dynasts came into their own. In 2018, when Kamal Nath was elected into power in Madhya Pradesh, it was yet another testament to the school’s continuing foothold in Indian politics. A select group was formed. India had three Doscos, as Doon graduates are called, CMs in Nath, Odisha’s Naveen Patnaik, and Punjab’s Amarinder Singh.
Even in literary circles, the school made its mark. For Amitav Ghosh and Vikram Seth, the school newspaper was their first gig. It’s not just Doon, Mayo and Sanawar also boast of an intimidatingly successful and very well-known list of alumni.
Lieutenant General Surendra Kulkarni graduated from Mayo in 1971 and into a long, celebrated stint in the Army. But after he retired, a void lingered. He wanted to “give back” to the school he had graduated from 43 years ago. Lt Gen. Kulkarni returned to Ajmer in 2014. This time as the school’s director. “My heart was in the school,” he said.
10 per cent of his students are the children of alumni. Previously, there were more. But he’s glad that Mayo’s opened up, and is now home to children from more diverse backgrounds.
“I didn’t want the school to be clannish. I didn’t want there to be a conformity of world-view,” Gen. Kulkarni told ThePrint. “They [our alumni] are what make us special. That’s how people know about our school. But we don’t want to be stuck in the past.”
If these schools don’t keep up with new-age approaches to teaching,
they are going to perish
–Sameer Gandhi, Sanawar alumnus
Signs of a new trend
Up until a few years ago, there was a template followed by the elite. A prestigious boarding school, a university education in the US or UK, and a job in an in-vogue profession. While the latter two continue to hold true, the socially affluent now also want a school-level education that is globally recognised, such as the IB or the Cambridge Curriculum. Or they simply don’t want to send their children so far away.
In order to adapt, Mayo is reportedly planning on phasing out CBSE. Doon’s decision to scrap IB was controversial, but allegedly, the school’s IB grades weren’t up to the mark. Sanawar has only CBSE.
Mridula Singh Maluste, a Mumbai-based education consultant who has been in the business for two decades, has never had a single student from Sanawar come to her, seeking help to enter foreign universities. “It astonishes me,” she said. The imputation, then, is that Sanawar is no longer part of the upper echelons of education. In Delhi, she mainly has students from elite day schools such as Shri Ram, Vasant Valley, and The British School. Although, she gets a fair number of students from Doon, and Mayo Girls.
Serene surroundings and ever-lasting bonds are no longer enough for many parents today. “If these schools don’t keep up with new-age approaches to teaching, they are going to perish,” said Sameer Gandhi, a Sanawar alumnus who decided to send his daughter to Delhi’s Vasant Valley.
In newer schools, gender norms are no longer adhered to as strictly. Boys can have long hair, piercings, and school uniforms are gender neutral.
There is the emergence of an upwardly-mobile middle class in smaller towns. And that’s also altering the demographic in boarding schools — Sanawar, for one, is supposedly no longer as “cosmopolitan” as it used to be. There are now a number of students from smaller towns such as Karnal and Panipat. Earlier, there’d be more students from bigger cities.
According to an alumnus the quality of life at Mayo started to decline about 15-20 years ago. While it was trying to stick to its old-world roots, its students were jarringly new. The regimen aside, “everyone was speaking Hindi, and fights were breaking out all the time,” he said. He chose not to send his son to the school.
“Demography changes over time everywhere, like a country,” said Kirit Javali, secretary of the Mayo Old Boys Society. “Yes, there is a difference today, more students come to Mayo from the tier-2 cities apart from the metro cities. But is reflective of the school’s inclusivity.” About a third of Mayo’s students are from Rajasthan, but this doesn’t mean they’re ‘Rajputs’ or the children of ‘nobility’.
The school’s current captain is from Munger, a town in Bihar. It’s something Kulkarni is proud of. “They come with a fire in their belly,” he said.
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The problem with the new
The new-age boarding schools in Gurgaon are a heady mix of students from NCR, and also a number of tier-2 and tier-3 cities. While boarding school is hailed for eliminating differences, in Delhi schools, the pressure on students is bubbling. “At that time, to fit in, I used to ask my parents for money. There were people bringing new designer bags every week,” said the Pathways alumnus, who graduated from the Gurgaon branch in 2015.
Today’s children, before they enter the terrible teens, have to be ferried everywhere. “You have to chaperone them — take them to classes, to restaurants, to birthday parties. There’s no freedom, and they don’t react well,” said Singh. For young girls, it’s even more difficult. Notions of safety and the alleged lack of it in Delhi, run deep. Parents are intensely protective, monitoring their daughters’ every move.
From time to time, this makes Singh reconsider whether boarding school is a safer alternative for her daughter.
The preferences, the concerns
Among the old boarding schools, it’s the survival of the fittest.
“The two schools that come up in conversations these days are Woodstock and Kodaikanal. Both are international schools. Woodstock was big earlier as well though,” said Gauri Singh, a Sanawar alumnus. “There are a lot of diplomat kids, and Kodaikanal has a great campus.” But Singh’s seven-year-old studies at Lycee Francais International on Aurangzeb Road, and she and her husband, who also went to Sanawar, have no plans of switching out. “We’re happy. We’re not very competitive parents either,” she said.
A controlled environment. This is an attraction point [for some]. Parents and students look forward to the tradition and the culture. These days there’s also the concern that kids are partying too much
–Sameer Dhingra, president of the Doon School Old Boys Society
Still, the Delhi-Gurgaon boarding schools aren’t on the cards for everyone. There’s a rigour to parenting that didn’t exist earlier. “We curate every experience of our children’s lives. From piano lessons to playdates with friends of our choosing, it’s scary. You can’t have your child in school over the week, and then have them come back and ask for pasta with truffles,” said Gandhi.
Parents want their children to excel, to zero in on one extra-curricular or sport, and be the best at it. “It’s amazing what kids have to go through these days. It’s a different kind of pressure,” said Gandhi. This is at odds with boarding schools, wherein children alternate between sports every few months, be it hockey, squash, or cricket. It is about dabbling in many vs expertise in one. All-rounder vs excellence.
Ultimately, it hinges on priorities and preferences. Some parents value independence and are content to temporarily hand over the reins to teachers. They appreciate the security, and an environment that is free from the constraints of cities. Dhingra, an upholder of the school’s alumni network, sent his son to Doon.
“A controlled environment. This is an attraction point [for some]. Parents and students look forward to the tradition and the culture. These days there’s also the concern that kids are partying too much,” said Dhingra. “It’s great for discipline and all-round development.”
Outside the gates of any South Delhi school is a fleet of luxury vehicles holding up traffic: BMWs, Mercedes, Audis, Bentleys. Birthday parties are an elaborate affair, with parents forking out lakhs of rupees. Markers of wealth are conspicuous, and the pressure for parents to compete enormous. It’s a toss-up for most things, but according to all legacy school alumni, regardless of privileged backgrounds and rich histories, boarding school is an equaliser. A very expensive one. Doon’s fees run up to Rs 17 lakh a year, more than the fees of many private universities in India. But day schools are never far behind. “Sending your child to British School is like sending them to Yale,” jokes Gandhi. The fee is about Rs 3 lakh per quarter.
However, the roots of several legacy boarding schools are in unequal practices and traditions.
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In same league but holding their own
Mayo was all about “maharaja culture”, and the first ‘commoner’ to enter Mayo was after Independence — a hundred years after it was founded. The school’s annual day is a sheer spectacle of its legacy. On the last day, the grounds are covered — this time by a sea of safas. The Old Boys turn up in matching bandhgalas and safas, and their wives watch in saris of the exact same shade.
Doon on the other hand was envisaged as a British public school, geared towards Indian ambitions and desires. The mode of education and way of life was British, but the students were Indian.
Its first headmaster was Arthur E Foot, formerly a science master at Eton College — a British boarding school, the philosophy of which is deeply woven into the principles of both Doon and Mayo. The schools continue to have close ties. Both routinely dubbed the Eton of the East and continue to have exchange programmes. Every year, about a dozen Mayo boys spend a term in London.
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Exclusive is also exclusionary
Gauri Singh remembers an entire term at Sanawar when no one spoke to her. She was ‘boycotted’, a victim of callous cruelty, frequently exhibited by school-going children. It was painful, though she says she’s better for it — a stronger person.
However, it points to a certain malaise that thrives at boarding schools: “If you’re good at sports and extroverted, you’ll excel. But if you’re bookish and introverted, it’s much harder,” she said. Sports are of ultimate importance, and not just the run-of-the-mill football and cricket. Mayo has at least 50 horses, purebred Marwari horses with anachronistic names. There’s archery and rifle shooting, staff employed to ensure the golf course is manicured.
Boarding school life — where children are consigned to lives without phones, without cars and drivers, with limited access to cities belongs to another universe. There’s not nearly enough parental control. But it’s not as though students are living half–lives, forbidden from using the internet. While wifi is freely available and is used for classes, there is limited access to phones.
“I’m quite agnostic about my time at Sanawar. I don’t turn up for every alumni event,” she added. “It comes down to a child’s personality, and their parents.”
There is a structure to each day at school. A regimen that must be followed. “It can be difficult to abide by,” said Dhingra, referring to Doon.
But there’s a charm to a sequestered existence, especially when the perils of screens and hyperconnectivity are taken into account. “You live differently. You get to travel and play games. The facilities are something else,” he added, romantically.
Boarding schools — where children are consigned to lives without phones, without cars and drivers, with limited access to cities—belong to another universe. There’s not nearly enough parental control. But it’s not as though students are living half–lives, forbidden from using the internet. While wifi is freely available and is used for classes, there is limited access to phones. In the old days, students would painstakingly write letters to their parents, and thus have limited contact, now access is direct.
The idea is also that children who come out of boarding schools are adaptable and well-socialised. They can fit in anywhere in the world. “From a protected environment, a child is thrown to the woods. You learn how to survive,” said Javali of Mayo. His two sons are the third-generation Mayoites. About a quarter of students are the progeny of alumni. In Doon, this number is less — about 13 to 14 per cent.
Javali calls the school a microcosm of India, located through the wide spectrum of students that have entered its doors over the past 150 years: “you get to see what India was then, and what it is today.”
Over time, as notions of ‘elite families’ shifted, royal families at Mayo were replaced by business families and C-suit kids. Stories about school, set in the same classrooms and dormitories, have changed dramatically. “Aap apne time ka bata rahe ho [you’re talking about your own time],” Javali’s son tells his grandfather.
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Stuck in time
For some, enough hasn’t changed. “Mayo’s British-ness is overpowering. Every year, they perform the same English plays. Where’s the Mahabharata? Where’s the Ramayana,” said an alumnus from the batch of 1973, who didn’t want to be named. Half a century later, he stands in the school museum, dotted with photographs and artefacts associated with British officials who walked the school’s halls.
One of the most striking elements of the campus, apart from the arched doorways, domed roofs, and a palatial clocktower — is a marble statue of Lord Mayo, who founded the school. The alumnus would rather the school be decorated with the teachings of our “great sages” and Hindu religion. “Not in a ritualistic way,” he clarifies. But for reflection and meditation.
Mayo does feel like it belongs to a different time. There’s a grandeur, a generational tie that lingers. Four generations of Congress politician Manvendra Singh’s family went to Mayo, including his father, Jaswant Singh, one of the founding members of the BJP.
Cold chapatis are part and parcel of school food, but a staff member covertly handed Singh’s son warm chapatis, compelled by his family’s association with the school, which began almost a century ago, in 1924. It’s not just students, family histories of staff members have also been rendered alive by the school.
There’s also a Doon-Mayo rivalry that persists to this day, buttressed by similarities. On the outset, Doon boasts of more illustrious alumni, which is then countered by the idea that Mayo-students are more grounded. “They’re mostly wealthy, and don’t do much,” said a Mayo-alumnus about Doon.
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The network for life
Through events, alumni-interactions, football matches, and merchandise, the current generation stands to benefit from the freshly minted networks of the newer schools.
But for most people, the brand value is incomparable vis à vis older ones.
Being a Dosco, a Sanawarian, or a Mayoite provides unfettered access to a massive network of professionals at the top of their game, and enviable social currency.
“It’s a mature network, like those of Ivy-league universities. It’s a milieu of people that can be very good for a child’s development,” said Singh, talking about Sanawar. “It gives you a big leg up.”
They play badminton at Gymkhana Club, and golf at DGC. “We’re all alike,” admitted Gandhi. “It’s a conversation starter. It helps at a first job. They’re networks you inherit,” he said.
Each year, there’s a flurry of alumni events and mixers to choose from, held in different cities around the world. Doon has alumni chapters in all major Indian cities, as well as in many abroad. Whether in the US, UK, Singapore, Australia or even Pakistan — if you search, Doscos will be found. The societies are structured with secretariats and representatives. Last month, according to an Instagram post, Doon’s New York alumni rallied together. “An amazing evening hosted by Amit Sawhney and Abha. It was a full house or maybe more, with Doscos spilling out onto the streets,” reads the post.
In London, 35 Doscos met at a pub for ‘Dosco Friday Drinks’. Whether it’s London, New York or Lucknow, the pictures look the same. There’s a touch of awkwardness, and it’s unclear how formal or informal the setting is. Videos are few and far between.
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Of school and living away
At a dinner hosted by the director for those who have returned to the 198-acre Mayo campus for the 50-year reunion of the 1973 batch, there’s a smorgasbord of people. Board members of various companies, businessmen, the maharaja of Jodhpur and retired high-commissioners. It’s a close-knit community bonded by shared anecdotes, and the stresses of living away from home at a young age.
Several sports trophies have been donated by alumni. The stands, from which spectators look down on to the playing fields, have been donated by the royal family of Jaipur.
There are also a few who are 10 years older, who graduated in 1963. There’s a Mayoite who recently passed away. His wife fills in, urging her late husband’s school friends to head for dinner. Some of the older men in the group are wearing knit caps striped in the school’s five colours.
All three schools have dedicated apps: The Old Sanawarian Society, The Doon Old Boys Society, and the Mayo Old Boys Society. Not only are they directories, they also have more clear-cut privileges — discounts on alumni-owned restaurants, hotels, and products.
Typically, alumni-events are full of opportunity. They’re not just ways to reminisce about the days gone by, they can also be rewarding; ending in jobs, or if not, solid guidance and mentoring. “I’m constantly chasing Old Boys to register,” said Javali. In Delhi, Mayo events are held at The Claridges. The managing director is an Old Boy. There’s a diverse range of ages, from college-going students to Mayo veterans at the tail-end of their careers.
What works in favour of boarding schools is a mix of nostalgia and networking. The latter is growing in importance, but the light of the former is dimming. “The sense of belonging is less. This generation is no longer as taken in by institutions,” says Singh, whose Mayo dynasty might be coming to an end.
(Edited by Anurag Chaubey)