Let me ask you this: If a young girl in rural India dreams of becoming an engineer, what does she see when she imagines an IIT campus? A place of possibility, or a fortress guarded by unspoken rules? Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s recent remark at an IIT convocation—‘Wish there were more daughters among the medalists’—was more than a polite nod to diversity. It was a mirror held up to a system that’s been quietly failing half its population for decades. And here’s the kicker: the problem isn’t just about numbers. It’s about the invisible walls that start crumbling long before a student even steps into a JEE coaching center.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how the conversation always seems to orbit around the final destination—the medal, the degree, the prestige. But the real drama happens years earlier, in the quiet moments where a girl is told she’s ‘not built for math,’ or where her family hesitates to send her to a city for coaching. I’ve spoken to engineers who remember being the only girl in their class, and their stories aren’t just about discrimination. They’re about the psychological toll of being constantly reminded that you don’t belong. That’s the unspoken curriculum of our education system.
Let’s talk about the ‘20% solution.’ The Supernumerary Seats Scheme was a bold experiment, pushing female representation from 8% in 2016 to nearly 20% by 2020. But here’s the catch: progress has since stalled. From 2020 to 2025, the percentage jumped by a mere 0.25 points. That’s not growth—it’s a statistical footnote. Why? Because policies can create doors, but they can’t force people to walk through them. When I look at the data, I see a system that’s mastered the art of tokenism. More women are admitted, but the cultural barriers that deter them from even applying? Those remain untouched. It’s like building a bridge to a desert island and expecting everyone to cross it, while the island itself still lacks water.
Money, of course, is the elephant in the room. Engineering preparation is a financial minefield. Coaching fees, travel, and the cost of time are hurdles that disproportionately affect girls. Families in smaller towns often view engineering as a son’s domain—a career path that guarantees stability. Meanwhile, a daughter might be steered toward ‘safer’ fields like nursing or teaching. I’ve seen this firsthand in my own network: brilliant young women who chose to study economics instead of physics because their parents ‘didn’t want them to be away from home.’ That’s not just a choice—it’s a systemic betrayal of potential.
And let’s not forget the campus itself. Even if a girl makes it to IIT, the environment can be a minefield. The culture of engineering schools is steeped in a hyper-competitive, male-dominated ethos that can feel alienating. I once asked a female IIT alumnus why she left her branch and switched to management. Her answer? ‘I didn’t want to be the only woman in a lab full of men who never asked me for help.’ That’s not just a personal struggle—it’s a reflection of a system that still sees women as anomalies, not equals.
Here’s what I find deeply troubling: the focus on increasing seats ignores the bigger question. What if the real issue isn’t how many girls get into IITs, but how many decide to apply in the first place? The pipeline starts long before JEE. In schools, girls are often discouraged from pursuing STEM subjects. Teachers might subconsciously praise boys for their ‘natural aptitude’ for math, while girls are praised for their ‘effort.’ Over time, this erodes confidence. A girl who’s told she’s ‘not built for physics’ might never take the JEE. And that’s the tragedy: we’re not losing talent—we’re losing the chance to nurture it.
The Prime Minister’s wish for more female medallists is a start, but it’s also a warning. If we keep treating gender diversity as a checkbox exercise, we’ll keep hitting the same ceiling. The next step isn’t just about quotas—it’s about reimagining the entire ecosystem. Schools need to stop treating STEM as a boy’s club. Parents need to stop viewing engineering as a ‘risky’ career for daughters. And IITs themselves need to ask a harder question: Are we creating spaces where women feel like they belong, or are we just admitting them to fill a quota?
India’s future as a tech powerhouse depends on this. We can’t afford to leave half our population behind. The real medal we should be striving for isn’t in a convocation hall—it’s in the minds of every girl who’s ever been told she’s ‘not built for this.’ Because if we don’t change the narrative, the next generation of engineers will keep walking past the starting line, and the world will keep missing out on their brilliance.
