For months, the lights at Kashmir University stayed on longer than usual.
Some floors never went dark at all. In half-lit offices, people shuffled papers in silence.
Inside the Examination Wing, two clerks argued over a typo on an old degree certificate. Across the hall, a group of junior staff took turns rechecking data on final-year pass percentages.
No one was waiting for an exam or the results of an entrance test. And yet, everything felt like a deadline.
“It wasn’t just late hours,” said one faculty coordinator. “It was weeks of staring into spreadsheets until your eyes hurt.”
What began as a routine academic exercise soon turned into a full-blown reckoning.
With a revised grading framework, India’s National Assessment and Accreditation Council (NAAC) was sending inspection teams to campuses across the country. And this time, the rules were different.
The grading was tighter. The language of assessment had changed. Kashmir University, an institution often caught between local politics and academic potential, was going to be tested not just for performance, but for consistency, transparency, and accuracy.
“We knew it wouldn’t be a tick-box exercise,” said Prof. Manzoor Ahmad Shah, who oversaw many of the preparatory steps. “It was a line-by-line audit of our functioning. They weren’t here for show. They wanted proof of everything we claimed.”
The audit went deep. Sixty-five parameters, from research citations to hostel upkeep, were on the table. The team would examine how fast exam results were declared, how grievances were handled, how decisions were recorded. Even the university’s website and social media presence had to be accounted for.
In response, the campus seemed to silently shift gears.
Teachers who hadn’t spoken to clerks in years sat across tables comparing records. Data operators pulled out files untouched since 2014. Retired staff were called in for missing paperwork. Some departments rewrote their internal reports three times in two weeks. One professor of botany quipped, “I haven’t seen this much truth-telling since my retirement interview.”
It wasn’t just accuracy. It was the weight of perception.
“There was no margin for sloppiness,” said Prof. Musavir Ahmad, a senior administrator involved in the process. “We had been criticised in the past—about delays, mismanagement, inefficiency. So we knew the pressure wasn’t just from NAAC. It was from our own past.”
The tension was sharpest inside the Examination Wing. For years, it had drawn flak for late results and degree delays. But in recent years, things had changed quietly.
“We’ve issued more than a hundred thousand degree certificates in the last few years,” said Dr. Majid Zaman, the university’s Controller of Examinations. “All on time. That may not make headlines, but it matters to students.”
By the time the NAAC peer review team arrived in early 2025, Kashmir University had already spent six months in preparation. The visit was low-key, but methodical.
Over three days, the team sat through presentations, conducted interviews, walked through lecture halls, and studied ledgers. They asked hard questions, of students, of junior staff, of heads of departments.
“We followed every protocol,” said Prof. Shah. “Out of 65 parameters, we were assessed on 63. And we were told our performance was exemplary.”
Still, nobody quite expected what happened next.
On a warm Tuesday in June, journalists were called for an afternoon press briefing. The notice was brief. The room was half full when Vice Chancellor Professor Nilofer Khan walked in and took the stage. There was no fanfare.
“The University of Kashmir,” she said quietly, “has been awarded the A++ grade by NAAC.”
She didn’t pause for response. She continued in the same calm voice: “This was possible because of the continuous efforts of our teaching and non-teaching staff. And the trust of our students.”
For a moment, people didn’t react. Then someone whispered the CGPA score: 3.68 out of 4. The highest the university had ever earned. The highest in the region. A rating fewer than five percent of Indian universities had received.
“This is not the end,” Prof. Khan said. “It’s a beginning.”
News had already spread in the campus. Students stared at the notification on their phones. Some looked amused. Others proud. “I never thought we’d make headlines for something good,” said Ishrat, a postgraduate student. “But today, I feel like I study at a place that matters.”
The university’s critics weren’t forgotten in this moment of celebration.
“We listened,” said Prof. Musavir. “To every news article, every question raised about delays or inefficiency. We didn’t dismiss it. It pushed us to get better.”
Now, with the A++ in hand, Kashmir University has more than a badge of honour. It has bargaining power, and access to bigger research grants, stronger collaborations, and academic networks that were once beyond reach.
But those who worked behind the scenes remain cautious.
“Accreditation is not a prize,” said one administrator. “It’s a mirror. It shows you what you are. But it doesn’t stop the clock.”
The lights at the administration block now turn off a little earlier. The corridors are calmer. But the memory of those long nights remains.
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