The Exodus Of Nepali Students

In 2023/2024 alone, 112,593 people were awarded a No Objection Certificate (NOC)—a formal permit required by Nepali students to study abroad, granted by the Ministry of Education, Science and Technology. The total number of students enrolled in universities in Nepal over six years (four years for a bachelor’s degree and two years for a master’s degree) is 633,053, according to the University Grants Commission, Nepal. A simple calculation reveals a stark truth: nearly half of our students are leaving the country to study abroad. These are often the higher-achieving students, selected by foreign institutions for their strong academic records. But why do so many young people prefer foreign universities over ours?

Some say, “It’s because they are greedy—they just want to get rich and fill their bags with money.” However, another perspective is that low incomes, resulting from our deteriorating economy, drive them away. The key factors are unemployment, lack of facilities, and the search for freedom. One reason has become painfully apparent to me—even as a teenager. Our education system is falling apart. After graduating high school, I had high expectations for a university education. While I had tried to avoid the “mark sheet only” mindset in school, I couldn’t completely escape it. This stifling experience made me look forward to higher education. “University will be different,” I thought. “We’ll be able to study the subjects we love, not just for marks. The instructors will be experts in their fields, and we’ll learn in an entirely new way.” It was a dream many high schoolers share. But that dream quickly shattered.

My first doubts arose months before I even set foot in a classroom. After my high school exams, a friend told me he had joined an entrance exam preparation institute and asked me to join too. I believed entrance exams were meant to test the skills I had developed in high school, so joining a coaching centre felt unnecessary. Still, I kept in touch to see what the institute’s classes were like. To my surprise, most lectures there focused on note-taking and memorising for exams—no analysis, deeper understanding, or appreciation of the subject matter. And yet, students from these institutes scored highest on the entrance exams.

That should have been my first warning. University classes were not much different. While a few instructors made their subjects engaging, most delivered monotonous lectures like robots (these days, AI does it better), scribbling definitions and notes on the board without effort to help students appreciate or apply the material. Topics felt vague, and their relevance to our lives or careers was unclear. Even more astonishing, many of these instructors were the same ones tutoring in the entrance exam centres—prioritising extra income over preparing meaningful university lessons.

The consensus among students was that lectures were only worth attending for attendance marks. Real studying happened at home—usually with hand-me-down notes from seniors, carefully curated to match exam patterns. Assignments rarely demanded original thought; most involved copying straight from textbooks. The topics barely changed from year to year, so copying from seniors’ work was common practice. Both teachers and students treated assignments as mere formalities for external marks. This is the reality: in Nepal, doctors, engineers, lawyers, bankers, and teachers are trained to excel at examinations—not to master their professions. They are taught to crack tests, not to solve real-world problems. When these top scorers enter the workforce, they often struggle. Government employees, too, emerge from this same system—hardly surprising when so many public projects fail. No wonder citizens only trust seasoned veterans, not fresh graduates, when hiring doctors or engineers.

In today’s world of global competition, the consequences are apparent. That’s why students try to spread their wings abroad—only to be labelled deserters or unpatriotic. Experts speak of the sea of opportunities in Nepal, but these opportunities cannot be seized unless students are truly equipped to do so. At present, they are not. Without reforming our education system, a bleak future is inevitable. The first step must be to overhaul our examination system completely. It should actively discourage “exam-centric” teaching and learning.

Nepal’s curriculum is broad, but assessments measure only surface-level knowledge—often answered by textbook copying. Most students prepare by memorising notes designed for exams, not by reading books or research papers. Exam patterns rarely change, allowing students to predict questions and learn answers. Guess papers circulate widely before exams and often mirror the actual tests. Even practice questions instructors give have a suspiciously high match rate with final exam papers, making one wonder if they came from the same source.

Examinations should instead require careful thought, analysis, and creativity. They should model real-world problems that demand applied knowledge and problem-solving skills. Question patterns must change regularly, forcing students to think beyond memorisation. Testing should also go beyond the three-hour written paper. Students should work on-site, tackling challenges they will face in their careers. Assignments should involve exploring new topics, applying ideas, and being updated annually to prevent easy copying. Changing the examination framework will motivate students to learn deeply, not just prepare for the test—strengthening the entire education system and restoring faith in Nepal’s future.

Another crucial step is to break our society’s obsession with marks. Parents judge children by their report cards; the government boasts about top scores. Students internalise the idea that marks define success, so they view education merely as a way to secure social and familial approval—not as a path to knowledge or critical thinking. Yet employers care about skills, not grades. High-scoring MBA graduates are often placed in entry-level roles because employers know what a Nepali degree is worth practically. This gap between marks and skills shows why mark sheets lose all value in the workplace. Colleges should shift focus from grades to genuine skill development—changing how students, teachers, and parents see education.

The rapid migration of young people is a serious concern. But blaming them for leaving is misguided. The real culprit is the system that stifles their dreams instead of nurturing them. It fails to produce enlightened individuals capable of contributing meaningfully to society. Expecting people to abandon their aspirations for the sake of patriotism is unrealistic. The only way to keep them here is to reform the system before our country is entirely deserted.

(Subedi is an undergraduate at New York University.)