In a development that will surprise precisely no one with a functioning brain stem, the great Indian student invasion of Blighty has hit the buffers. The rupee, that famously robust currency, has performed a dramatic swan dive, while Her Majesty's government has finally remembered it has borders. The result: a mass exodus of subcontinental scholars, their dreams of a Tottenham terrace and a degree in 'Digital Marketing and Wellbeing' evaporating faster than a G&T on a Brighton beach.
Reports from the hallowed halls of Britain's less prestigious universities suggest that the once-steady stream of Indian students has become a trickle, then a drip, then a sad little sigh. The pound, you see, has gone from 'expensive' to 'absolutely having a laugh'. When the cost of a Nando's and a monthly Oyster card becomes a matter of complex Hindu-Arabic calculus, even the most determined future consultant throws in the towel.
But wait, there's more! The Home Office, that fabled bastion of common sense, has decided that processing visa applications in the time it takes to grow an avocado tree is simply not enough. No, they've added extra layers of bureaucracy, requiring fingerprints, retinal scans, and a signed affidavit from your great-grandmother verifying that you are not, in fact, planning to steal jobs from underpaid British baristas. The result is a system so Kafkaesque that Franz himself would weep into his slivovitz.
Let's be clear: this is a crisis manufactured by a perfect storm of incompetence and global economics. On one side, the Indian middle class, whose aspirations have been fuelled by years of Bollywood films featuring characters who 'study-abroad-and-make-good'. On the other, a British establishment that simultaneously wants their tuition fees (non-EU students pay through the nose, remember) but also wants to keep them out. It's like inviting someone to a party and then charging them for the privilege of standing in the rain.
The numbers, as they say, do not lie, although they often embellish. Applications from India for UK student visas have plummeted by something in the region of 'a lot'. University vice-chancellors are now walking around campus with the haunted look of men who've just realised their pension fund was invested in beanie babies. 'Internationalisation strategy' is suddenly a dirty phrase, muttered behind hands in faculty meetings.
Meanwhile, the students themselves are left in a state of suspended animation. Those already here are considering a life of permanent part-time Deliveroo work, their dreams of becoming management consultants on hold. Those still in Delhi and Mumbai are looking at Canada, Australia, anywhere that offers a slightly less eye-watering exchange rate. The Times of India is running profiles of 'brain drain' victims with the same grim relish the Daily Mail reserves for benefit cheats.
Of course, the government's response has been typical: a junior minister has been dispatched to India to 'reassure' everyone, a trip that will no doubt involve copious amounts of chai and meaningless platitudes. The real solution, of course, would be to stop treating students like cash cows and start treating them like human beings. But that would require a degree of joined-up thinking that is sadly lacking in a country where the Home Office and the Department for Education exist on different planets.
So here we are: Indian students are fleeing, universities are weeping, and the pound continues its relentless march towards parity with the Zimbabwean dollar. If you're an Indian student with a UK dream, my advice is this: invest your parents' money in a good Bluetooth speaker and a library card. The education is largely the same, and you'll save enough on rent to buy a small mango farm. Or just go to Canada. Everyone else is.
