Every institution has a beginning—often modest, sometimes chaotic, and rarely indicative of what it may eventually become. For the Amity School of Communication (ASCO), Lucknow, which I had the opportunity to lead, the story began in fragments.
A couple of rooms on the ground floor at Viraj Khand, Gomti Nagar—shared uneasily with the Admissions Office—housed two to four computers. Adjacent was a small room accommodating a handful of faculty members. Across the corridor stood the Director’s office, with a space next to it awkwardly divided: one half serving as a Radio Lab, the other as a makeshift studio. Classrooms for undergraduate and postgraduate programmes were tucked away in the basement.
Yes, that was ASCO—scattered, constrained, and yet quietly alive with possibility.
There was just one PD-170 camera for videography—symbolic, perhaps, of both limitation and aspiration.
When I took over as Director in 2009, the institution had around 300 students enrolled across Bachelor’s and Master’s programmes in Journalism. Only one batch had graduated by then.
On paper, it was an institution. It was an idea waiting to be built.
There was infrastructure in the most basic sense—classrooms and a small faculty—but nothing that resembled a professional media school. Yet what we did have was far more valuable: talented students, committed faculty, and a shared hunger to do something different.
What was missing was direction—and a system to translate intent into structure.
The campus was headed by a retired Army General—a man of precision, discipline, and exacting standards. For most of us, approaching him was an exercise in hesitation. Every note submitted for infrastructure expansion returned marked in red ink with a single remark: “Please discuss.”
The comments were intimidating—not just for their tone, but for their insistence on clarity. Attempts to secure a direct meeting were often deflected: “Sir is busy. Speak on phone.” Even that felt daunting.
Then came a turning point. One day, he called me in—not to question, but to explain.
He spoke at length about how a proposal must be constructed: clear in intent, precise in language, and supported by solid justification. A proposal, he emphasised, must leave no room for ambiguity or prolonged discussion. It must stand on its own merit.
That interaction became my first real lesson—and it changed everything.
It was not just about getting approvals; it was about learning the grammar of administration, the discipline of articulation, and the responsibility of leadership. In hindsight, that training became foundational to everything that followed.
The shift to the new campus at Malhaur marked a decisive turning point in the institution’s growth. For the first time, space was not a constraint—it was an opportunity.
We began to build, not merely expand.
Two new Master’s programmes were introduced. A strong pool of faculty was recruited. Dedicated infrastructure took shape: a full-fledged studio, radio and photography labs, and a multimedia lab equipped with 30 high-end computers. But beyond physical infrastructure, the focus was on creating an ecosystem.
We introduced the concept of a Newsroom—stocked daily with newspapers and magazines—where students could engage with journalism as a lived practice, not merely an academic subject.
We launched a student-driven news magazine, Expressions, which ran consistently for over six years—becoming both a platform and a pedagogical tool. Many students who contributed as writers and field reporters went on to secure positions in leading newspapers and television channels.
Annual events such as the Radio Awards and the Via Media Film Festival infused the campus with industry exposure and creative energy. Students found placements in FM and television channels; some moved into the entertainment industry and made their mark.
Perhaps most significantly, we pioneered the University Digital Club (UDC)—a student-driven initiative led by a Social Media Manager. It was an early recognition of digital media as an integral component of communication education. The idea proved impactful and was later adopted across campuses of the university.
The Ph.D. programme offered by the institution also gained strength, with at least 15 scholars awarded their doctorates.
A great deal of credit must go to the Chairman of the Lucknow campus, whose vision and consistent support—in terms of infrastructure and funding—enabled this transformation.
Over time, ASCO was no longer merely functional—it became visible. It found a place among the top 20–25 media institutions in India, as ranked by publications such as India Today, Outlook, and The Week. But rankings were only a reflection.
The real achievement lay in the culture that had taken root—a culture of initiative, experimentation, and professional orientation.
I have always believed that professional courses must align with the evolving demands of the industry, rather than be confined to rigid, conventional academic frameworks. While the introduction of the New Education Policy (NEP) is a progressive step, its implementation has, in some ways, diluted the core focus of specialised media education—particularly in print, electronic media, advertising, and public relations. There appears to be a growing disconnect between academic design and industry requirements, often exacerbated by a lack of informed decision-making at the top.
Institutions are not built by infrastructure alone. They are shaped by vision, sustained by leadership, and strengthened by continuity.
ASCO Lucknow, however, now appears to be facing a phase of dilution and decline. Can one truly dispense with core disciplines such as print, radio-TV, public relations, and advertising? Can a studio and its equipment be reduced to routine event coverage rather than rigorous student training? Can initiatives like the UDC be limited to creating reels?
Certainly not.
An educational institution is not a commercial enterprise; it is a space for academic and professional growth—especially for students who invest significantly in their education. Enrolment has already seen a noticeable decline. And as always, word of mouth travels—carrying both praise and criticism.
The decline of an institution rarely occurs overnight. It is gradual, subtle, and often invisible in its early stages.
It begins when the original vision loses clarity, leadership changes without alignment, momentum is not sustained, systems replace purpose, and excellence becomes optional rather than essential.
Perhaps ASCO stands at such a crossroads today.
Looking back, its journey offers a simple yet enduring lesson: institutions are not defined by the space they occupy, but by the standards they uphold.
From a handful of computers in a shared room to a nationally recognised media school—the rise was not accidental. And if there is decline, that too cannot be accidental.
Because in the life cycle of any institution, what you build matters—but how consistently you sustain it matters even more.
The question, then, remains: have priorities shifted, or is this a case of deliberate neglect—unmindful of the damage it may cause?
Perhaps the most honest answers lie with the alumni and current students—those who have witnessed both the ascent and the uncertainty.
