Every summer, as the National Eligibility-cum-Entrance Test (NEET-UG) results are declared, households across Kashmir undergo an intense emotional ritual. Some families celebrate as their children secure admission to medical colleges. Others begin calculating marks, comparing cut-offs and discussing counselling options. But in many households, another conversation quietly takes place.
“Take one more drop.”
What was once an exception has now become a standard rite of passage. Across Jammu and Kashmir, it is increasingly common to meet young men and women preparing for their third, fourth, or even fifth attempt. Coaching institutes proudly showcase images of repeaters who finally made it, reinforcing the belief that endless persistence guarantees success. However, alongside these celebrated exceptions lies a quieter reality. Thousands of students dedicate years to preparation, only to find their scores stagnating or falling just short of a government medical seat. For many, preparation ceases to be an active pursuit of a career and becomes an endless loop they cannot break out of.
This phenomenon highlights a critical question for Kashmir’s education ecosystem: at what point does determination stop being a virtue and start becoming a trap? Behavioral scientists explain this through a psychological bias known as the sunk cost fallacy. While researcher Barry Staw first described this phenomenon in 1976 as the “escalation of commitment,” psychologists Hal Arkes and Catherine Blumer demonstrated the phenomenon in a famous 1985 study. It describes the human tendency to continue investing time, money, or effort into a decision simply because of what has already been spent. In cricket, it is like sitting through a miserable, rain-delayed match because you refuse to waste the ticket price, even though staying does not recover your money. In competitive exams, students often take another drop year not because their future prospects have improved, but because quitting feels like throwing away because quitting feels like throwing away the years they have already invested.
To understand why this trap is so potent in Kashmir, one must look beyond individual psychology to the region’s socio-cultural landscape. Medicine in Kashmiri society has long carried immense prestige, symbolizing academic excellence, financial security, and social respect. By the time students complete Class 10, social expectations often channel science students toward a narrow path: medicine or engineering. Over the past decade, a booming coaching industry has capitalized on this aspiration. In many cases, coaching has effectively replaced formal schooling through dummy admissions, shifting the focus from holistic education to repetitive exam drills. Surrounded by peers driven by the same goal, stepping off the NEET track begins to feel less like changing careers and more like abandoning a community.
This mindset is further reinforced by what psychologists call survivorship bias. Coaching centers and media outlets naturally celebrate successful candidates with billboards, newspaper features, and social media posts. Aspirants are constantly exposed to stories of repeaters who eventually cleared the exam. What remains invisible are the silent departures: the thousands of students who spent four years preparing but ultimately had to pivot elsewhere without public celebration or recognition. When the visible examples exclusively showcase success, students naturally overestimate their own odds of succeeding on another attempt.
The actual numbers underline the intensity of this competition. Following the NEET-UG 2026 examination, over 56,420 candidates from Jammu and Kashmir registered for the test, with more than 50,000 appearing. While around 25,000 candidates qualified for counselling, the total number of government MBBS seats in the Union Territory remains a tiny fraction of that pool. For candidates missing out by just a few marks, taking another drop appears to be the only logical choice. Yet every drop year carries a heavy, unspoken cost. Economists call this opportunity cost: the years spent repeating NEET are years that could have been invested in earning a different degree, developing modern technical skills, or building a career in expanding industries.
Another deep psychological barrier is identity foreclosure. After spending years as a NEET aspirant, a young person’s identity becomes completely wrapped up in the idea of becoming a doctor. Leaving preparation feels like losing part of their identity and confronting societal judgment. Questions like “What will relatives say?” or “I have introduced myself as a NEET student for four years” often outweigh objective evaluations of future success.
Kashmir does not suffer from a lack of talent; it suffers from a narrowing of vision. The global job market in 2026 is evolving rapidly. High-growth careers in artificial intelligence, biotechnology, environmental science, data analytics, product design, public policy, and digital communication offer immense opportunities for ambitious youth. Healthcare itself has expanded into bioinformatics, digital health, and medical technology. Success is far broader than any single examination.
Learning when to persevere is valuable, but learning when to pivot is equally essential. When deciding whether to attempt another drop year, students and parents must stop asking, “Since we have already spent three years, how can we stop now?” Instead, the rational question to ask is: “Knowing everything we know today about our abilities, interests, and the level of competition, would we choose this path if we were starting fresh today?”
If the honest answer is yes, an additional attempt may well be a sound investment. If the answer is no, choosing a new direction is not an admission of failure. It is a courageous, informed choice toward a fulfilling future. It is time for Kashmiri society, parents, and educators to broaden the conversation and measure young people not by a single exam score, but by their potential to solve meaningful problems in a diverse world.
