A Conflicted Peace: Education, Identity, and the Quiet Crisis in Meghalaya

By Dr. Rajni Dahiya

How to Start writing about Education, Identity, and the Quiet Crisis in Meghalaya

This was the first question that came to my mind when I decided to write about Meghalaya.

When I was initially asked to work with the state’s school education system, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Like many others, I was largely unaware of the ground realities. But as a researcher, I know that no meaningful work begins without a guiding hypothesis. Mine was literature-based, shaped by what was already known:

• Meghalaya has a literacy rate of over 94% which is one of the highest in India.
• The state is widely known for its peaceful environment and spiritual depth.
• Its people appear grounded, humble, and connected to nature.

Why Conflicted Peace

And all of that, I found to be true. There is indeed a unique stillness and grace to life in Meghalaya.

But then I asked myself, where does the problem lie?
Why is this visible peace accompanied by such deep educational challenges?
Why does a state with such a strong foundation still rank among the lowest in the country in terms of educational quality?

This is where the contradiction began to emerge, what I now call a “conflicted peace”.

Each time I visit Shillong, Meghalaya, I experience a wave of contradictory emotions. The serenity of the hills, the humility of its people, and the spiritual rhythm that pulses through their collective life often leave me awestruck. The quietness in their voices, the visible presence of women in public life, and the seamless integration of community and church life reflect a society that thrives in peaceful co-existence.

Yet, beneath this calm surface lies a troubling paradox, one that becomes sharper with every visit. Meghalaya, despite its impressive literacy rate (ranked among the top five states in India), ranks at the bottom in the Performance Grading Index (PGI) when it comes to the quality of education. This discrepancy raises a fundamental question: How can a state read so much, yet learn so little?

The Dual Realities

As a researcher, not a tourist, I observe closely. Shillong’s streets are filled with fashionable youth, articulate and confident. The cityscape is choked with taxis, mostly driven by young men between 18 and 30. This image could suggest a progressive society but the reality is more layered.

There are young boys smoking, their eyes swollen and dim. I look at confident girls, well-dressed, yet carrying the same signs of fatigue or intoxication. I observe children walking to school while most adults casually chew paan, an addiction that seems as culturally embedded in Shillong as tea is in northern India.

These sights often leave me wondering: Do adults here reflect on their addictions the way I do about mine? As a tea addict myself, I often resolve never to let my children form such a habit. Is there such conscious reflection about paan, drugs, or lifestyle choices in this society?

Development or Displacement?

Passing through Ri-Bhoi, an area often labelled backward in reports and articles, I am moved by its raw, untouched beauty. The peace here feels sacred. But the question persists: Is transforming this landscape into another concrete city truly ‘development’?

If development means urbanisation at the cost of natural harmony, then we must pause. Meghalaya does not need another Gurugram or Mumbai. What it needs is a development model that aligns with its ecological and cultural identity.

Too often, we equate development with increased tourism. But this comes with its own contradictions. On one hand, we promote tourism as a growth strategy. On the other, we discuss the poor quality of education in policy meetings. We push the youth towards careers as tourist guides, taxi drivers, and hotel staff roles that depend on English-speaking skills and surface-level training but lack depth in academic aspiration or civic leadership.

A Lost Vision

The youth here are dreamers but their dreams seem to have been shaped more by exposure to celebrity culture and consumerism than by education. They aspire to be dancers, stylists, and musicians—not scientists, civil servants, or engineers. Their income is often spent on fashion and food, not saved or reinvested in future goals.

Why is that? Because education in Meghalaya, especially among tribal communities such as the Khasi, Garo, and Jaintia, has often lacked a sustained, locally grounded long-term vision. While there is a growing body of written literature in Khasi and Garo by the efforts of missionaries, scholars, and contemporary authors, But its reach remains limited in mainstream education and youth engagement. Tourism and consumerism is growing faster than structured schooling. Fashion became more visible than folktales. And when literature isn’t woven into education, the revolution of thought it can ignite remains subdued.

The Role of Literature in Transformation

Tribes remain marginalized not because of lack of wisdom, but because they have not had the means or platforms to record and share their knowledge to build literature that reflects their values, challenges, and dreams. For Meghalaya to truly progress, education must go hand in hand with literary empowerment. The youth must be encouraged not only to read but to write about their land, their identity, their struggles, and their dreams.

Only when people write can they reflect. Only when they reflect can they resist blind imitation. And only through resistance can real transformation occur.

A Call for a Localised Vision

Meghalaya does not need a generic model of development. It needs a customised, culturally rooted plan that balances education, nature, and livelihood. The government must:

• Promote quality education not just through infrastructure but by reviving local languages and encouraging literature.
• Introduce career visioning programs for tribal youth beyond tourism-driven roles.
• Cap tourism in ecologically fragile zones to preserve the land and its people.
• Involve local communities in redefining development goals, rather than imposing models borrowed from the plains.

Conclusion

Meghalaya is a land of peace, grace, and immense potential. But it stands at a crossroads torn between retaining its soul and conforming to an aggressive model of progress. As an observer and educator, I advocate for a revolution but not the kind that erases its identity. It must be a revolution born out of literature, self-expression, and ecological respect.

Let us not mistake silence for absence of thought. Let us hear their stories not in our language, but in theirs. Only then will development become meaningful.