Anna University was quiet that morning. It was a Thursday, and most students dragged their feet into class, half-awake and more focused on the weekend than lectures.
Karthik, on the other hand, was wide awake.
He had spent the previous night sorting documents and receipts at Kannan Xerox. It was mindless work, but valuable. He had overheard complaints from teachers, staff, students, and even parents — all blaming something else in the system.
The most common line?
"We don't have a choice."
Karthik had written it down. The problem with India's education crisis wasn't just funding. It was invisibility — of effort, of purpose, of options.
And that morning, he was about to get proof.
A Young Professor's Honesty
His economics class was assigned to a new assistant lecturer that day — a young woman in her early thirties named Ms. Jayalakshmi. She walked in with confidence but lacked the stiffness of older faculty. Her energy was genuine.
She introduced herself quickly and then asked a question:
"Can someone explain how government subsidies affect inflation?"
Students looked down at their notebooks. A few glanced at each other. No one moved.
Karthik raised his hand.
"It depends on whether the subsidy is funded by debt or taxation. If subsidies increase demand without increasing supply, prices go up. But if supply is improved, subsidies can reduce inflation."
Jayalakshmi looked surprised.
"Correct. And explained better than in most guidebooks."
She asked him to stay back after class.
The Conversation After Class
Once the class emptied, Jayalakshmi sat down and removed her glasses. Her face looked more tired than she showed.
"You're sharper than a typical first-year," she said. "Did you study economics before?"
"In a way," Karthik replied. "I've seen what happens when bad economics becomes policy."
She smiled faintly. "I started teaching because I believed I could shape young minds. But half the time, I'm filling out reports and arranging timetables."
"What about research?" he asked.
She sighed. "Who has time? We teach with old notes, revise syllabus without authority, and wait six months to get approval for any change."
Karthik leaned forward. "What if someone made that easier?"
"Like how?"
He paused.
"What if there was a platform — a simple one—where teachers could collaborate, share real-time updates, track student performance, access updated policy briefs, and log practical feedback directly to the admin?"
She looked stunned. "That sounds… too good to be true."
"It's not," he said. "It just hasn't been tried yet."
Jayalakshmi stared at him. "If you ever build that, let me know. I'll be your first user."
He smiled.
A tiny idea had been planted.
Mapping the Pain Points
That evening, back at home, Karthik sat with his notebook under the dim light of his room. His mother called out for dinner, but he didn't respond immediately.
He had drawn a rough outline of what he was now calling EduTrack — not a school, not a coaching center, but a digital framework for supporting teachers and administrators.
His notes read:
Pain Points:
No real-time communication between teachers and departments
Exam coordination chaos
Lack of accountability in teacher training
No space for innovation in curriculum
EduTrack Phase 1 Idea:
Feedback system from teacher to management
Shared content repository
Simple teacher profile with workload, availability, and support status
Goal: Strengthen what already exists, without threatening anyone.
He looked at the heading again.
It was just an idea.
But it felt like the right one.
Kannan Xerox – Another Lesson
At the shop that evening, Karthik was sorting a stack of printed question papers when a young school teacher walked in.
She looked frustrated and asked for 200 copies of a parent circular — urgently.
"Last-minute again?" Kannan, the shop owner, asked.
"Always," she replied. "We get orders from the school late. And we have to pay from our salary first, get it reimbursed two months later."
Karthik handed her the copies and asked gently, "Do you track how often this happens?"
She looked confused. "Track?"
"Keep a record. If it's a pattern, it's a problem worth solving."
The teacher stared at him, as if realizing something for the first time.
He watched her walk away.
Even basic printing tasks were part of a larger system failure.
And every piece of that failure was a future product idea.
Dinesh Returns
Later that week, while attending the student policy discussion group Meena had invited him to, Karthik was surprised to see Dinesh, the student union secretary, also present.
Dinesh was listening quietly to a debate on privatization in education.
During the tea break, he approached Karthik.
"You spoke well last time," he said. "You know systems better than most professors."
"Systems are just patterns. Most people don't bother looking for them," Karthik replied.
Dinesh narrowed his eyes. "You think policy is enough?"
"No. Policy is just paper. Change comes from design — better architecture, better incentives, less delay."
Dinesh smiled. "Good. Because I'm planning to run for state student council next year. I need people who think long-term."
"I'm not a politician," Karthik replied.
"But you're dangerous," Dinesh said. "That's enough."
A Quiet Reflection
That night, Karthik sat alone on the terrace, his notebook resting on his lap.
He had no investors.
No engineers.
Not even a computer.
But he had something stronger — clarity.
He wrote:
"We don't need to replace every broken system.
We need to upgrade the minds inside it.
Teachers are drowning.
Students are silent.
Admins are disconnected.
If I can build tools to link these three, we won't need reform speeches.
We'll have progress without headlines."
He looked up at the sky.
It was still too early for success.
But the curriculum had already begun — not the one written in books, but the invisible one taught by life itself.