The decision to allow foreign universities in India is not just a policy shift, but indicates a profound change in the politics and economics of higher education. During his visit earlier this year, UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer led a delegation of 14 university vice-chancellors, all of whom were exploring opportunities under the new University Grants Commission rules. The 2023 regulations allow the world’s top 500 universities to set up campuses in India. No doubt, it shows India’s openness to global partnerships. But behind the rhetoric lies a mix of economic, political, and ideological interests on both sides.
The National Education Policy 2020 aims to make the country a global education hub. However, instead of building up its own universities to reach that standard, the government has invited established Western players to fill the gap. And that raises a pertinent question: is India building a self-reliant education system, or merely outsourcing its academic aspirations?
From Britain’s perspective, the rationale is primarily financial. Once flush with endowments and stable funding, many UK universities are struggling now. Inflation, capped tuition fees, and shrinking government grants have left them running deficits. Making things worse, tighter visa rules have curbed international student inflows, which once contributed £37.4 billion annually to the UK economy. Faced with this challenge, expanding into India appears to be a smart business decision. With millions of English-speaking students and a booming middle class, India is a lucrative education market. It’s no surprise, therefore, that Starmer’s government is keen to tap into it.
However, the worrying concern is that education looks less like a cultural exchange and more like a commercial export. British university degrees in India are marketed as aspirational, prestigious, and globally recognised. The pitch sounds compelling: ‘a UK degree without leaving home’. But the reality is more complex. The costs will almost certainly be higher than those of Indian public universities, and the degrees may not carry the same global acceptance as those obtained by studying in the UK. Graduates of these Indian campuses, although technically earning UK-accredited degrees, may not enjoy the same post-study work rights as their counterparts who study in the UK.
Of course, these campuses promise access to international faculty, modern infrastructure, and globally aligned curricula. However, that promise will probably be limited to a small, affluent demographic. Much like India’s top private universities, the new foreign campuses may offer quality education, but at prohibitive costs. In a country where public universities still educate the overwhelming majority, this trend risks widening the already deep divide between those who can afford premium education and those who cannot.
This concern becomes clearer when we examine the condition of India’s public universities. Many have faced budget cuts and growing administrative control over the past decade. At the same time, the government has actively courted private and foreign players. And now, through this new initiative, the government has conveyed that education is shifting from a public good to a private commodity. Treating education as a tradeable service undermines it as a public right.
Sadly, and quite ironically, India’s own attempts at international collaboration haven’t fared particularly well. The South Asian University, established in Delhi as a joint initiative of SAARC nations, was meant to be a symbol of regional cooperation. However, political interference, discrimination, and curbs on dissent have tarnished that vision. If India struggles to ensure academic freedom in a regional university it hosts, can it realistically guarantee autonomy for branches of powerful Western institutions?
Besides, there’s the question of competition. Indian public universities, already burdened by limited funds, and bureaucratic hurdles, will now face competition from foreign institutions with global brand power and deeper pockets. Even partnerships between the two may become lopsided, with Indian universities relegated to a feeder or satellite status. Over time, this could trigger a quiet brain drain within the country itself, drawing the best faculty, diverting philanthropic funding, and further weakening the public education ecosystem.
Although proponents argue that foreign campuses will raise standards and provide global exposure to Indian education, let us remember that real internationalisation isn’t about franchised campuses or imported syllabi. It requires equal partnerships: shared research, genuine student exchange, and intellectual reciprocity. A British university in Gurugram may carry London’s prestige, but can it recreate the same academic environment, diversity, or freedom? Will it build communities of learning, or simply expand its market footprint?
So, the debate isn’t a clash between globalisation and nationalism; it’s about the terms of engagement. If India wants to be a true global education hub, it must prioritise equity, autonomy, and accountability. Foreign institutions can add value, but only if they strengthen rather than overshadow Indian universities. Otherwise, India risks turning higher education into a marketplace of imported dreams—glittering on the surface, hollow beneath.
John J Kennedy | Former Professor and Dean, Christ (Deemed) University, Bengaluru
(Views are personal)