Faith and the Freshman : A case of campus influence

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The waves crashed outside the beach villa as a dozen IIT Bombay freshers sat cross-legged on the floor, listening to a sermon that promised salvation and internships in equal measure. They weren’t gullible, only hopeful. Each carried the quiet fatigue of the first semester: the dislocation of being far away from home, the pressure to prove oneself in a place that worships brilliance. When someone offered clarity, it didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like care.

But to understand how they arrived here, we must begin where it started—with a knock on the door.

On 26th September 2024, Abhyuday, IIT Bombay, organised an event titled ‘Lifestyle Engineering’ (whose post has been removed now from Abhyuday’s Instagram page). The event was advertised as a talk on mental health and holistic living, aiming to raise awareness about mental health and how to “engineer” a better lifestyle. Speakers discussed the four quotients of human development: intelligence (IQ), emotional (EQ), physical (PQ), and spiritual (SQ), with a particular emphasis on the last.

The event’s association with Abhyuday, a well-established social body on campus, lent it instant credibility. Similar sessions were also organised under the banner of NSS Yogastha, further reinforcing the appearance of institutional legitimacy.

By most accounts, the session was engaging, even refreshing and offered a fresh perspective on the blend of science and spirituality. Toward the end, attendees were asked to take a quiz with questions on faith and spirituality, meant to gauge their “spiritual quotient”, alongside a Google Form seeking feedback and some personal details: name, hostel and room number.

A week later, one of the students heard a knock on his door.

I remember the first knock on my door. A friendly and charismatic senior said he was from Lifestyle Engineering. He spoke like someone who already knew me, calling me by my name. He told me my “spiritual quotient” was unusually high, that I was “unique,” “balanced,” and “receptive.” It was flattering, especially in a place where everyone seems to be ahead of you. He said there was another session this weekend—smaller, more personal, for people like me. He smiled, “It’s for people who think a little deeper.” He said it would be more of a conversation than a lecture, and I found myself agreeing before I even realised.

After the first session, the “seniors” frequently showed up at the students’ room, often under the pretext of checking in or following up, showering the students with adulation. Phone calls and WhatsApp messages became regular, inviting students to more sessions. Soon, a smaller discussion with around 10-12 freshers was organised in a hostel room on campus. Meetings were informal, but well-organised. 

“Lunch was on them,” recalled one attendee, describing it as a very good and homely full-course meal. Larger speaker sessions followed, this time around, outside the campus, at a lavish apartment in Powai, belonging to another IIT Bombay alumnus.

The Turning Point

At first, the sessions seemed benign and practical, focusing on managing stress, building emotional intelligence and understanding values like leadership and teamwork. Mythological stories were woven to illustrate ideas of moral resilience and collective strength. Attendees were encouraged to think of themselves as part of a larger, purpose-oriented community. 

Gradually, however, the tone and the content began to shift, moving away from self-improvement toward more speculative and pseudoscientific ideas. In one session, a video was shown that purportedly demonstrated the existence of the soul, arguing that a body loses measurable weight the moment life departs from it. Students were told that the soul merely “changes vessels” as the body dies, and that their current form is just one of many they had inhabited before. They were told that cultivating spiritual clarity would make worldly aspirations, such as academics, fall into place.

We were told that the secretion of oxytocin in a mother’s womb induces amnesia about our past births. Moreover, there were multiple sessions designed to reinforce a creationist view of human life. In these sessions, we were given supposed evidence of the biological community suppressing scientific viewpoints alternative to Darwinian evolution. In hindsight, their attempts to appropriate seemingly scientific but unsound concepts should have been obvious.

To reinforce these ideas, students were given extensive weekly readings and assignments, some of which carried marks. The materials often featured seemingly credible political and scientific figures to endorse supernatural or spiritual claims, including videos of public personalities such as American politician Tulsi Gabbard, known for purporting pseudoscientific claims. One reading cited neurological experiments and deliberately misrepresented them as “scientific evidence of soul” and “energy vibrations.”

The assignments indirectly miscredited alternative belief systems as inferior, portraying them as incomplete and misguided paths. Students were asked to reflect on the material and answer questions on how they can apply the learning to their everyday lives. The assigned tasks and the group’s operations felt so structured that they seemed like a part of a larger organisation to the attendees.

Students were usually given one or two days to complete these assignments. If they failed to submit the assignment for some reason, they received phone calls or even unannounced visits to their hostel rooms. In some cases, they were told that finishing the assignments was an important criterion to be considered for the internships the organisation promised, a claim that added a layer of pressure and compliance.

While the internships were marketed as valuable, career-oriented opportunities, often with an emphasis on technology, the assignments bore no relation to such domains. Instead, they served as instruments of reinforcement, consolidating beliefs and obedience within a framework presented as personal and professional growth.

Initially, the assignments seemed harmless. I thought I’d get through them quickly, but soon, the workload began to grow. Each week, there were more and more assignments and readings, which demanded more and more time and emotional energy than I had anticipated. Over time, it got harder to keep up as the tone of the material grew heavier and all the questions seemed to circle back to the same concepts of detachment and devotion. Even when I disagreed with something, I found myself writing what I thought would be the “right” answer. I remember starting to measure my day through their lens–was I being “spiritually focused” enough? Was I wasting time talking to friends who didn’t “get it”? It sounds strange now, but at the time it felt normal, even right.

A two-day trip then followed, held in a coastal village, a couple of hours away from Mumbai. Students were told it would be a rejuvenating weekend by the coast, away from the pressures of city and campus life, involving long walks by the beach and simple food. The trip was fully funded, which made it even more tempting.

The first few hours lived up to the promise. Walking along the shore, students explored the quiet village, which they were told thrived without modern material comforts and lived in harmony with nature. The speaker sessions began later. One of the speakers, introduced as a highly accomplished professional, spoke about leading a life free from temptations and material pursuits. By the end of the retreat, several students reported feeling conflicted, even overwhelmed. Yet also strangely calm.

It started out like a normal outing–we walked around the village, got breakfast and did some chanting. But after several hours of chanting and constant discussions about “living purely,” it became hard to tell what was normal and questioning anything felt embarrassing and uncomfortable. After attending so many sessions, their ideas start to sink in and without you realising it. You stop analysing and just accept what you’re told.

The Lure of Opportunity 

The influence was shrouded in a veil of opportunity. In the following weeks, students were invited to more sessions framed as academic or career-oriented opportunities. Incentives such as DSA preparation and exclusive internship opportunities at other institutions were used to draw them in. Yet, even in these supposedly academic spaces, the focus soon shifted as attendance in spiritual activities, such as chanting and “spiritual commitment,” subtly became prerequisites for these benefits. Attendees recalled sessions that devoted barely two hours to the promised DSA preparation in a twelve-hour schedule, the rest filled with sermons on “spiritual clarity” and “moral balance.” 

I signed up thinking the internship would look good on my resume, because I didn’t have many other pointers. But once it actually began, it was nothing like what I had imagined. Most of the day was spent on long hours of group prayers, lectures on spirituality, and activities designed to “build discipline and commitment.”

We’d wake up before dawn for chanting sessions, followed by sessions that always circled back to the same message of detaching from material goods, devoting yourself truly, and everything else will take care of itself. Every hour of the day was accounted for. I didn’t even notice the shift while it was happening. It felt normal, until it didn’t. 

Losing Autonomy

The process of indoctrination began inconspicuously, built on a foundation of personal rapport and trust, carefully creating an edifice of influence. For most freshers, this was their first time away from home, in an environment where brilliance seemed to be expected. Naturally, grappling with the sheer scale of the place—its academic rigour, demanding schedules and intense social life can be daunting. Many freshers struggle with the questions of self-worth and belonging, watching peers who seem effortlessly brilliant and self-assured. In such moments of loss of direction, one naturally looks for outside reassurance, for an anchor figure who seems to understand.

It was precisely this emotional vacuum that the system of mentorship seemed to be designed to fill. Each student was assigned a dedicated point of contact, typically a senior or an alumnus who was friendly, approachable and positioned as someone worth emulating. Their success stories, often in high-paying corporate roles, lent immense credence to their words. These figures appeared both aspirational and reassuring. The trust built, blurred the ability to separate care from control.

My mentor, who worked at a major tech company, seemed like someone who genuinely cared, checking in after quizzes, talking about balance and purpose. By the time I realised the conversations had shifted from academics and career advice to spirituality, it was hard to pull away because saying no didn’t just feel like rejecting an idea, it felt like disappointing a friend.

As members became more integrated, greater social control was exerted to enforce conformity. An explicitly patriarchal worldview was promoted, with women being barred from certain programmes because they were deemed a “distraction.” Students were also advised to cut ties with friends outside the group, and dating was dismissed as a waste of time, a temptation that diluted one’s “spiritual focus.” Isolation, it became clear, was not a byproduct; it was central to their method of psychological conditioning. Campus clubs and events were reframed as “materialistic” distractions.

I skipped a session once to attend an event with my friends in the convocation hall. My mentor told me its alright, but added on that he believes that they are not worth it. This gentle but evident reproach stuck with me throughout the event, and I took no joy in it. I recall attending minimal events this semester.

Several students reported being explicitly told not to disclose their involvement with friends or family, including parents, warning that outsiders would “divert them from their path to spirituality” by insisting they were too young and inexperienced to engage in such practices. In some cases, students were encouraged to tell parents they were attending campus events, while secretly travelling to outstation retreats and “internships” by the organisation.

Bit by bit, students were severed from alternative perspectives, until the group became their entire social world, their reference point for identity, meaning, and belonging. 

Everyone I spoke to from the organisation, including my friends, seemed completely convinced. Their conviction was contagious, so that after a point, I started believing it too. It was reassuring to have people around who seemed to have it all figured out. For a while, I stopped questioning anything. I started thinking and talking like them without even realising it. It’s strange to look back now, I realise how much I had changed and lost close friendships.

Attempts to withdraw and dissent when voiced were deflected with gentle condescension. Some attendees were subtly discouraged from questioning or engaging with alternative beliefs, as if scepticism itself were a moral failing rather than a valid intellectual sense. When one student posed critical questions to his mentor, he received a deflective message that gently shut him down for asking too much, appearing kind on the surface, but making it unmistakably clear that questioning was unwelcome. 

When some tried to distance themselves, the group’s warmth took a different hue. Messages arrived with increased frequency, first out of “concern,” then as subtle reproach so as to make the students feel guilty about lack of commitment. Mentors appearing at hostel doors unannounced became more frequent. Reporting this behaviour felt impossible, as the group was careful to leave no evidence. The process, from start to finish, was calculated and precise.

For those who eventually chose to step back, the process was fraught with difficulty. The constant checking-in, the guilt, the sense of being surveilled, all continued even after they stopped responding. One student recalled feeling as though they had to learn how to think independently again. Another described the relief of finally telling his friends everything, followed by the dread of their disbelief. Getting out was less about cutting ties than about reclaiming the right to question things and to let yourself feel uncertain. 

Once I realised what I had gotten myself into, getting out wasn’t easy. I started avoiding their calls and replying to their texts with excuses, saying I had exams or was caught up with work. Then I started missing sessions altogether. The calls became more frequent, then friendly check-ins in my room and guilt-laced reminders about “consistency” and “commitment.” In the span of two weeks, I must have received four or five calls. My mentor showed up at my room under the guise of being worried that I hadn’t been responding. It’s been months now. Sometimes they still call, although less frequently. I don’t pick up anymore. 

A Larger Institutional Concern

The entry of external individuals is consistently facilitated by current students and recent graduates who are members of the organisation. The absence of a framework which prevents abuse by nefarious actors allows direct access to student residential areas. As Insight detailed in a recent article on campus security protocols, these gaps in oversight create conditions that allow external groups to operate within residential spaces without being held accountable.

Students report that these individuals collectively introduce themselves under the moniker of “alumni”. They also never specify the institution on whose behalf they organise these exercises. Insight’s investigations reveal that some of these members are recent graduates of IIT Bombay, as well as those from other local colleges. This presents a two-fold problem: first, IIT Bombay graduates are misusing the agency given to alumni to initiate vulnerable students in this ecosystem. Second, outsiders presenting themselves as alumni with the intention of deliberately misleading students of the institute.

Insight reached out to members of both Abhuday and NSS to understand how these speaker sessions were organised, however, they were unresponsive. These experiences highlight the responsibility of institute bodies to vet external invitees and to ensure that any data collected in such sessions is handled appropriately.

The appeal of these external groups becomes clearer when viewed against the backdrop of institutional support structures. While the institute provides formal resources such as the Institute Student Mentor Programme (ISMP) and Faculty Advisors. These channels often require students to take the first step, which can be a barrier for someone already feeling overwhelmed. In contrast, the members of this organisation are persistent.

They initiate contact by appearing unannounced at students’ rooms and calling them beyond what is considered respectable. ISMP and Faculty Advisors cannot be this persistent if the student is unwilling to open up. This difference in approach fills a perceived gap in support systems. 

These groups specifically target students when they are most receptive to external guidance, focusing efforts on those who are going through difficult transitions, and may be exploiting known periods of vulnerability. But students always have the right to leave a group. When members harass, show up uninvited, or bombard with calls after one attempts to distance themselves, it becomes clear that the group’s interest is not in the student’s well-being but in maintaining control. For students who recognise these patterns, the first step is to speak with someone outside the group, like a trusted friend, family member, or mentor. Leaving a group does not require justification.

Insight reached out to multiple former Student Mentor Program Coordinators (SMPCs) for their thoughts on this phenomenon. In conversations with Insight, they emphasise the fine line as a choice made by the student to participate in these activities. One SMPC remarked, 

“These sessions often also take place in senior hostels. As a mentor, you can only warn your mentees, not stop them from going. A big problem hindering the resolution of the situation is the difficulty in identifying the people involved.”

Exploring personal beliefs is a normal part of the student experience. The line is crossed when tactics undermine autonomy, manipulate choices, or propagate regressive thought under the guise of scientifically sound arguments. This includes deceptive recruitment (like a wellness seminar becoming a recruitment session), isolating students by dismissing friends and family as “distractions”, making academic or career help conditional on ideological adherence and treating questions and doubts as personal failings.

This is not merely a matter of individual safety. It represents an intellectual crisis within an institution built on critical thinking and academic rigour. Students arrive at IIT Bombay with the capacity for questioning and analysis, yet the combination of homesickness, academic pressure, and a limited amount of immediately accessible support creates conditions where pseudoscientific discourse can take root. This undermines the very foundation of what the campus is meant to provide: a space for intellectual growth, free inquiry, and genuine support.