If we are
honest, many of us who work closely with young people sense that something
fundamental has shifted. Today’s students are bright, informed, and
technologically fluent, yet a growing number also appear unsettled — unsure of
themselves, uncertain of their place in the world, and often operating without
a clear internal compass.
This is
especially evident in large urban centres such as Delhi. Students grow up in
environments that are fast-paced, competitive, and relentlessly overscheduled.
Academic expectations are high, social pressures are constant, and digital life
allows little escape from comparison or scrutiny. At the same time, many of the
traditional structures that once transmitted shared expectations and norms —
extended families, close-knit neighbourhoods, and stable community rhythms —
have largely fallen away. What remains is a sense of drift. Students are busy,
but often feel at loose ends.
Previous
generations, whatever their limitations, were more likely to inherit a clearer
framework for how to live: how to treat others, how to endure difficulty, how
to make meaning beyond achievement. Today’s adolescents are frequently left to
assemble these frameworks on their own, at precisely the moment in life when
they are least equipped to do so. In our harried, overscheduled world, it has
also become increasingly difficult for adults to find the uninterrupted time —
and the mental space — to speak with children, particularly adolescents, about
the most important questions: how we live our lives, how we approach others,
and how we understand our place in the wider world.
The
emotional consequences of this environment are increasingly evident. In their
2018 paper entitled “Psychological Distress among School-Going Adolescents”,
Joseph and Abraham explain that many adolescents experience significant
emotional strain during their school years, including difficulties with
concentration, sleep, confidence, decision-making, and a persistent sense of
stress and unhappiness. These findings resonate strongly with what educators
observe daily and remind us that academic pressure alone does not explain
student distress; uncertainty about identity, direction, and meaning plays a
central role.
Over the
course of more than thirty years in education — including the past decade
working closely with students and families in India — I have seen how the
natural turmoil of adolescence can, when insufficiently guided, burden young
people with deeply self-defeating habits. In some cases, students reach the end
of their schooling frankly bereft of essential life skills: resilience,
self-discipline, perspective, and the ability to engage constructively with
others.
The disruption caused by the COVID-19 pandemic has only intensified these challenges. While academic gaps can often be addressed with time and support, deficits in maturity, independence, and adaptability are far more difficult to remediate once students leave the structured environment of school. This becomes particularly evident during the university application process, where institutions increasingly assess not only academic readiness, but a student’s capacity to live, learn, and contribute within complex, demanding environments.
One of the
most effective ways to support character and personality development is to
anchor it to a clear, forward-looking goal. For many students, the university
application process provides exactly that. When approached thoughtfully, a
student’s university profile becomes more than a collection of grades and
activities; it becomes a framework for intentional growth.
Students
tend to remain engaged when they understand the purpose behind expectations.
Contrary to popular belief, adolescents often appreciate structure. Clear
frameworks reduce anxiety, focus effort, and help students see growth as
meaningful rather than punitive.
Within this
framework, mentorship is indispensable. Honest, transparent guidance —
particularly when it identifies areas for development rather than merely
affirming strengths — can be transformative. It does students no service to
shield them from uncomfortable truths. If a student lacks independence,
struggles with accountability, or avoids challenge, these realities must be
addressed early and constructively.
For example,
when mentoring a student who has never lived beyond the immediate orbit of home
and school, concerns about independence are legitimate. Rather than treating
this as a deficiency, it can be approached as a developmental opportunity.
Parents, in partnership with schools, might create a form of local
“simulation”: entrusting the student with managing schedules, travel,
budgeting, or responsibilities independently within a familiar setting. The aim
is not risk, but rehearsal — allowing students to practise autonomy safely
before the stakes are higher.
The Character Traits Universities Truly Value
Universities today are
increasingly attentive to character. Beyond academic ability, they look for
students who demonstrate self-regulation, adaptability, accountability, and
intellectual humility. These traits predict success far more reliably than raw attainment
alone.
Students who can manage their
time and emotions, respond constructively to feedback, and take responsibility
for their actions adapt more readily to university life. Equally important is
openness — the ability to engage respectfully with difference and revise one’s
thinking when confronted with new ideas.
Empathy and ethical awareness
also matter deeply. Universities are wary of high-achieving applicants whose
ambition is untempered by consideration for others. Leadership without
responsibility, confidence without humility, and entitlement without effort are
increasingly recognised as warning signs.
One recurring challenge I observe, particularly among middle-class students from Delhi, is a form of overconfidence that can quietly undermine otherwise strong potential. Having grown up in environments that are supportive and responsive, some students develop assumptions about their own agency that are not always matched by lived experience. This can present as entitlement, resistance to feedback, or an expectation that systems will continue to accommodate them.
Within the familiar bubble of
urban, middle-class Delhi, such traits are often masked. Academic success,
parental advocacy, and institutional support can create the impression of
readiness. However, when students step beyond this context — into universities
where independence is assumed, accountability is non-negotiable, and support
must be actively sought — these assumptions can quickly backfire.
This is not a critique of confidence itself, which is essential. Rather, it is a reminder that confidence untethered from humility, self-knowledge, and responsibility can become a liability. Helping students recognise this early and constructively is one of the most valuable interventions schools and families can make.
Conclusion: Education as Formation
Character and personality
development cannot be left to chance. In a world where many informal mechanisms
of moral and social formation have weakened, schools and universities must act
with intention. This does not require grand programmes or moralising rhetoric.
It requires consistency, clarity, mentorship, and the courage to tell students
the truth — kindly, but firmly.
At its best, education is an act
of formation. When we educate the person as well as the pupil, we prepare young
people not only for university, but for life. And in doing so, we give them
something far more enduring than credentials: a sense of purpose, steadiness,
and the capacity to engage the world with confidence and care.
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