Disturbed by tragic deaths, Indian students are raging against celebrity YouTube teachers

Every YouTube video by Vikas Divyakirti is watched millions of times by young Indians.

His online lectures — on topics ranging from the American presidential elections to the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict, or sometimes just a “don’t worry be happy” sort of treacly speech — are mostly targeted at those preparing for the bitterly competitive civil services entrance exam.

Every year, nearly 1.5 million young men and women sit for these tests for a position in the government’s civil service. Fewer than a thousand make the final cut. Of these, less than 200 are chosen for the top-ranking Indian Administrative Service (IAS), and less than 50 make it to the Indian Foreign Service.

The desperation of students to succeed has spawned a lucrative and influential coaching industry built on the foundations of YouTube stardom.

Divyakirti, or “Vikas Sir,” as he is addressed by the young, is one of an entire genre of teachers — including Khan Sir (Faizal Khan), Ojha Sir (Avadh Ojha), PhysicsWallah (Alakh Pandey), among several others — who have become the faces of India’s civil services dream because of their massive YouTube audiences. It’s no exaggeration to say they enjoy near-cult popularity within a constantly wired generation.

For often desolate and under-pressure students, these teachers are not just academic trainers; they have been like life coaches. Among their followers, they have been treated with adulation akin to that reserved for movie stars.

Or, at least they used to be.

If YouTube made them stars, now a real-life tragedy has brought them crashing down to terra firma.

Last week, hundreds of students lashed back against these YouTube stars after three young civil services aspirants, all in their 20s, lost their lives to drowning when the low-lying illegally built basement of an IAS coaching center in Delhi flooded due to a drainage issue. Some students led street protests outside Divyakirti’s residence and surrounded his offline training center Drishti IAS.

The rage has been triggered by the silence of these online influencer-teachers around the horrific tragedy that was allegedly caused by gross criminal negligence.

Though the famous online names are not directly linked with these deaths, students feel betrayed by the lack of vocal or visible support. They believe none of them would be running profitable businesses or be household names if it were not for them.

“Divyakirti does a big ethics class on YouTube, but where was he when this incident happened?” Dheeraj, an agitated young student, also studying to be a civil servant, told Rest of World . “No comments were made by him on any social media platform. Where is his sympathy, empathy, and compassion now? Wasn’t it his moral duty to stand with us?”

What makes the tragedy most shocking is that students had complained about this very issue and been ignored by civic authorities. In June, one of the students at Rau’s IAS Study Circle filed an online complaint on the public grievances portal run by Delhi’s city council, alerting them to the possibility of “a major accident.” When no answer came, plaintive reminders were sent about how urgent the matter was.

The last reminder was as recent as July 22. A week later, two girls and one boy perished in the waters. And some students are convinced that there could be more undisclosed fatalities .

On July 29, a day after the tragedy, a throng of students gathered on the road across from the physical site of the incident, in front of a now-locked teaching center. They placed roses in front of photographs of  Nevin, Tanya, and Shreya, whose lives were snuffed out by alleged systemic callousness. One of the posters read, “The dream is dead.” There was anger against the police, the local administration, and politicians, but the absence of solidarity from teachers and trainers was a major talking point.

“Some of them [the YouTube teachers] are making excuses for why they did not speak out at first for us,” Sayyed Alam, a student, told Rest of World . “But did you notice that their videos were posted right on time on their YouTube channels?”

Nearly all of the new-age YouTube instructors first built personal brands and millions of subscribers online, and then added offline spaces. Most of the physical spaces are seen to be just as unsafe as the academy where the deaths took place — overcrowded classrooms, illegal basements, fire safety violations. In the past week, nearly all have been sealed by Delhi authorities, at least for the moment.

Internet coaching classes for the civil services — as with other competitive examinations — were meant to democratize opportunity for those who could not afford the giant fees of training in person, in big cities, with the additional costs of living expenses. The pandemic years further solidified this model.

Today, there is only a 50,000–60,000 rupee ($600–$715) difference between the virtual and offline programs. Most online modules cost about 1,50,000 rupees to start with, not a small amount for most Indian households. Most websites read like supermarket shelves, with discount offers highlighted and marked in giant fonts. Building brick-and-mortar businesses on the back of online success has created a private coaching industry that is estimated to be worth 30 billion rupees in the civil services sector alone.

“Every YouTube teacher developed a style to attract us,” Dheeraj said. “No one, not Ojha or Khan or anyone else, really cares about the students. We are money-minting factories for them.”

Under enormous pressure from the student community, the coaching stars have begun to slowly break their silence. When Divyakirti finally spoke, he said he was being targeted because “ everyone wants a scapegoat .”

The students are not impressed with the belated interventions.

“They realized their fancy motivational YouTube videos have backfired due to their shut mouths,” Dheeraj said, learning the first lesson of young adulthood.

Online or offline, all idols have feet of clay. ▰

Barkha Dutt , an Emmy-nominated journalist from India, is the founding editor of the multimedia platform Mojo Story. She is the author of two books: “This Unquiet Land: Stories from India’s Fault Lines” and “Humans of Covid: To Hell and Back.”